Turning Back
by Harmony Slytherin
Summary: Grace has left everything behind, never turning back. She is running from the terror which will not relent in its pursuit of her beloved son, who is the key to all evil. Just when Grace feels safe she learns to never say never...Sequel to The Return and N
1. Default Chapter

A/N WOW! Can you believe I actually made it to the THIRD story in a trilogy? I am so proud of myself. Hello one and all and welcome to Turning Back. If you're new here, you may read at the severe risk of being confused. However, I highly recommend reading Never Turn Back and The Return before attempting to get involved with this.   
  
For those of you returning: THANK YOU!!! I really appreciate it like whoa. This story is following Grace after...well, you know. She's in America now *gasp* and our little friend Charlie is seven years old...and not quite what you'd expect. Have fun, don't forget to review!   
  
Love always,  
  
Harmony  
  
Turning Back  
  
Part III of the Emperor's Dagger Trilogy  
  
By: Harmony Slytherin  
  
Prologue:  
  
The Princess and the Paupers  
  
The people of Imperial Parsel were shocked. After seventeen years of peace, the Emperor had finally lost his mind. It was the only reason the people could devise that he would expel his beloved daughter and only heir from the kingdom.  
  
Princess Annabella of Imperial Parsel was transported off the island in secrecy to hide her swelling belly. She was obviously pregnant now, Salazar's child growing inside her. He had not responded to her urgent letters demanding that he come to her aid and claim the child. What had once been love and passion for him now turned to bitter resentment. How could he do this to her?  
  
She was still beautiful, even with the child in her womb. Nothing could hide eyes hair of liquid gold and eyes the color of a summer sky. Her eyes were shimmering with crystal tears as she watched the boat sail away, abandoning her forever on the unknown continent of Europe. She had never ventured more than an hour's ride from the palace in all her life, and now she found herself completely surrounded by strangers who spoke a language she didn't understand.  
  
She tried desperately to find a peasant who spoke Parseltongue, but to know avail. They just looked at her as if she were crazy. After days of wandering, she sat on the edge of the muddy road and let her tears fall, ready to give up forever.  
  
It was then that a kindly monk stopped to investigate the crying, pregnant woman. Annabella tried to speak to him, but he didn't understand a word. He didn't need to. Without asking questions, he took her to a convent. The younger nuns sneered, but the Reverend Mother took the princess in and dressed her humbly. Annabella looked at the woman with tears of gratitude in her eyes, allowing herself to become a peasant, slowly learning Italian, and do everyday work she had always considered beneath her.   
  
The nuns also opened her eyes to Christianity, an entirely new and very Muggle experience. She held onto the faith they instilled in her desperately. During those lonely months with the nuns she turned to a God she had never heard of before, chanting prayers in a tongue she was only beginning to understand.   
  
Her child was born on a rainy night in April. It was a son with bright blue eyes like her own and dark tufts of hair that matched his father's. Annabella named him Galdinus after the saint who had founded the city near the convent and prayed fervently that one day her son would return to Parsel and take his rightful place as Crown Prince.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A young boy sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He remembered his dream with alarming clarity, and hurried out of his tiny room and into the bedroom next door. He hated to wake his mother, who looked almost as young as she really was in sleep, with her fiery hair spread around her and her face relaxed. But there was no time to lose.  
  
She awoke easily, took one look at his face, and gave him the unnecessary, albeit brief, lecture on packing only what was absolutely necessary. He ran into his room and packed his small, brown knapsack. He ran into the living room. His mother's purse was on a chair, and she was hastily throwing things into her suitcase with her pathetic wardrobe. The boy stood watching silently, his worried brown eyes following her every move.  
  
She swung the purse over her arm and gripped the suitcase firmly with one hand. Her other hand took hold of her son's wrist, and they sneaked out of the apartment silently.   
  
They didn't hear the sounds of the intruders until they were halfway down the three flights of stairs separating them from freedom. Without pausing more than a second the woman lifted her son onto her back and began to run, praying silently all the while. Not that she believed in God, but it couldn't hurt.  
  
She dodged a red stream of light, followed by another and another. Her son was clutching to her desperately. Biting her lip, she made it out of the apartment complex and ran to her beat-up old car. It was really a streak of luck that she had the car, and she hated to leave it, but they would be able to follow it.  
  
She risked taking the car to the bus station. The boy remained silent throughout the ordeal, clutching to the bag as most young children clutched to stuffed animals. His mother looked at him painfully, but the boy just stared straight ahead.  
  
The station was pretty much deserted, seeing as it was nearly two in the morning. She didn't like the eerie silence at all. She walked slowly, her head turning from side to side suspiciously, her grip on her son's hand so strong her knuckles were white. She turned a corner and let out a scream when she saw a man, who promptly clamped his hand over her mouth. The boy's eyes widened.  
  
The child's name was Charlie. His mother's name was Grace. The man's name was Tom. 


	2. A New Life

Chapter One:  
  
A New Life  
  
~When you'd cry I'd wipe away all of your tears  
  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
  
And I've held your hand for all of these years  
  
But you still have all of me~  
  
**My Immortal by Evanescence  
  
Unreal. Everything was just so unreal. Grace never pictured her twenty-four-year-old self as desperately clutching her seven-year-old son in a corner of a Greyhound Station while the boy's father-her cousin's husband-kept her from screaming in terror.  
  
Things had definitely gone downhill. But it could be worse.  
  
"Tom," she breathed when he released her, "For the love of God, don't ever do that again!"  
  
"Sorry," he replied with an apologetic smile. "I guess I'm just on edge, as usual. I didn't expect them to find you so soon here."  
  
"Obviously Indiana isn't safe after all," she sighed. Charlie snorted.  
  
"Well with all due respect Mother, nowhere is safe," he pointed out, as if it should be obvious.  
  
"How right you are," Tom said grimly.  
  
"Isn't Angel at all suspicious? Or Ginny?" Grace asked nervously. "It's the middle of the day in Britain, right?"  
  
"Don't worry about it," Tom said somewhat snappishly.   
  
"It's fine, Mother," Charlie put in reassuringly.  
  
"The next bus is leaving in fifteen minutes, so we'd better get you on it," Tom explained, lifting Grace's suitcase easily. It was too light to hold everything most people owned, but her belongings were always kept to a minimum.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked calmly, following him.  
  
"Philadelphia," Charlie replied promptly, "He's put a down payment on an apartment a two blocks from a diner. They're hiring."  
  
"It's positively uncanny," Tom said, looking down at his son in surprise. "I'll never get used to it."  
  
"Well Tom, he is the most powerful Divinator in centuries," Grace reminded him, placing a hand on her son's shoulder and smiling proudly. Even with villains right on their tail she could spare one of her rare smiles for Charlie.  
  
"Yes, I know," he replied, ushering them onto the nearly empty bus. He gave the overweight driver the tickets he had already purchased.  
  
"Hey there, mister," the driver snapped, "Don't play the fool with me. There's only two tickets here!"  
  
"I'm just going to get the lady settled," Tom replied smoothly, "And then I'll be leaving."  
  
"I'm watching you," the driver grunted, squinting for effect.  
  
"What name did you give the man for the apartment?" Grace whispered, quickly situating herself, her son, and their luggage.  
  
"Peters," he replied, just as quietly. "Grace Peters,"  
  
"My given name?" she raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Less conspicuous than, say, Guinevere" he shrugged. "You're not the only Grace in the world, you know."  
  
"I rather liked this last identity," Charlie piped up, "Victoria Bliss fits you mother. I've always liked the name Vicky, and I didn't mind being Tony. Better than the that last one, Amelia something."  
  
"Peabody, and everyone called me Lia," Grace rolled her eyes, "Tom, where do you FIND these names?"  
  
"Books," he shrugged, "Books that Angel reads."  
  
"Figures," she muttered darkly. "Where is this apartment? Philadelphia is a bit larger than Granger, you know."  
  
"It's all in here," Tom explained, handing her an envelope. "I don't know about the diner, but I don't see any reason to doubt the lad. He's never been wrong yet."  
  
"Tell me about it," she said with a half smile, "It's difficult to raise the boy who knows everything."  
  
"Hey mister!" the driver snapped from the front. "Are you paying for a ride or what?"  
  
"No, just leaving," Tom said, nodding at Grace and Charlie as he did just that. They watched out the window as the bus began to pull away. One moment he was waving and the next...he was gone.  
  
"I simply cannot wait to Apparate," Charlie declared. "Are you sure its too dangerous to teach me now?"  
  
"Yes," Grace replied wearily.   
  
"But I know I can."  
  
"Charlie,"   
  
"Yes, Mother?"  
  
"Shut up and go to sleep, would you?"  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Charlie couldn't remember when he had first started having visions. They were as much a part of his life as his mother and the moving and the Death Eaters. Suddenly and without warning his vision would cloud completely, and he would see a scene played out before him like clips of a movie. Sometimes he saw the present or the future, but mostly the past.   
  
The visions never took very long, a few moments at most. Sometimes Charlie would live entire lifetimes during five minutes of what he called objective time. And all his memories, including his visions, were stored away in a vault in his mind which he could open and literally relive at any time. In thirty seconds of objective time Charlie could close his eyes and live an entire day of his memory.   
  
For insistence, if someone began speaking to him in Italian Charlie would reach into his memory after every word and look it up in the Italian-English Dictionary he had read when he was five. After a few months the words would come as easily as if they were in his native language and he would be fluent.  
  
By age seven Charlie spoke Italian as well as English, French, Spanish, German, Latin, and Arabic. He had the basics of Chinese and Greek. He had impressed many a stranger in his short life.  
  
Charlie was also a powerful magician although he was rarely allowed to practice the magic he studied so diligently. Grace had scrimped and saved during their first three years in America before finally raising the money to buy Charlie's first wand in Houston, where they had been at the time. The wand was thirteen inches, maple, phoenix tail and the rare Centaur mane. She had also picked up several textbooks on the way. The problem was Charlie digested the knowledge at such an alarming rate that Grace simply could not buy the books fast enough.  
  
At the tender age of seven Charlie was plowing through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three; Intermediate Transfiguration; Hogwarts: a History; and A Higher Level of Potion Making. He was a master of Occlumency, of course, and had about the same grasp on Legilimency as his mother.   
  
He knew everything about his mother's history. Everything. He kept her updated on the happenings of her family home in Britain, his constant visions and dreams allowing him to check on Ron, Rayven, Angel, James or anyone else she was curious about. He had given her the play-by-play of Angel's two pregnancies, and told many funny stories about young Will and baby Gracie with the detached and somewhat cynical humor of a person four times his age.   
  
In other words, Charlie Weasley was never given a childhood. He carried a grown man's burden, and it was heavier than most "grown men" could imagine.   
  
Grace knew this, and more than anything else it was the reason she cried herself to sleep. It simply wasn't fair that her precious son, the reason she lived and breathed, was not entitled to even a day of the innocence and joy of childhood. Charlie didn't seem to mind, and that somehow made it even worse.  
  
He was right about the diner. He was right about most things. It was infuriating, really, to be constantly corrected on things like grammar by one's seven-year-old child. She'd given up arguing with him long ago, and decided the best reason for any decision was "because I said so!" It was the only way she could get anything done.  
  
She'd also given up on baby-sitters. He infuriated them just as he infuriated her, except they didn't understand him at all. He was even more snobbish to them because he hated the idea of being too young to look after himself. It was true, Charlie was very efficient and able to spend several hours or even days on his own without any supervision.  
  
As of yet, no one had attacked while she was gone. They usually hit in the dead of night, which was convenient really. Charlie always dreamed before they came, giving them enough warning to escape. He had tried to describe the dreams once. They were different, he had said, more like a dramatic novel following the life of a princess named Annabella.   
  
Grace was completely at a loss to why this meant Death Eaters were coming. Tom, however, seemed to understand perfectly. He had confessed that as a child he too had dreamt of Princess Annabella, and explained to Grace that Annabella was the mother to Slytherin's first heir...and theoretical mother to all his heirs following.  
  
Tom. That was yet another mysterious aspect of Grace's life. She had run from Britain with what little money her uncle could spare. She found herself in France for several months. A convent of nuns in a small town in Provence had taken pity on her and kept her safe until Charlie was born.  
  
It was just after Charlie's birth that Tom found her...and kidnapped them both. She had fought as hard as she could, and she hadn't given up her wand yet, but eventually he prevailed. After several hours of conversation she still refused to believe he was not Voldemort, that he had been possessed against his will, and that he only wanted to help take care of Charlie.   
  
It had taken the slaughter of the nuns to convince her of that.  
  
She remembered waking up after an uneasy sleep to see Tom walking in the door of the hotel room he was hiding them in, looking at the front page of the paper grimly. He handed it to her, and she stared. She didn't speak more than the most basic French, but the picture on the front page told her what had happened, and a simple Translation Charm confirmed her worst fears. She had wept, knowing she had brought their deaths.  
  
Damian, Tom explained, it was all Damian. Charlie, being Voldemort's heir, could be possessed just as Tom had been. Damian Flint wanted to find Charlie and raise him to be a Dark Lord, then raise Voldemort from the Dagger and place him in Charlie's small frame at around age seven.   
  
It was then that Grace realized the man was trying to help her, not hurt her. Tom Flint was not the creature that had robbed her virginity that cold January night, he was another, more kindly soul, who felt the guilt weighing down and heard the screams in his mind just as she did. He was just getting his memory back, just remembering all the things he had done as Lord Voldemort, and he wanted to try, somehow, to make it all right. He could not raise the dead. But he could look out for his only son.  
  
Grace hated taking charity from him, but she had little choice. He had warned her that her parents were on the verge of finding a spell that could track her wand, and she would have to snap it. He had found them using an ancient and basically forgotten spell which connected the fathers of the old magical families to their sons, allowing them to find any heirs that had left their homeland. Obviously "homeland" was defined as the land of conception, for Charlie had been in the land of his birth when Tom tracked them down.  
  
In the last seven years Grace had run constantly from Damian. Charlie knew it all, of course, from as soon as he was old enough to talk he understood everything about the situation. Visions and glimpses of the past had made a pretty little story for Charles Weasley, and he was now held a vital role in that story. The next generation, he called it.   
  
He was not stupid enough to look at it as an adventure. He had lived enough previous lives and seen enough death to know what being part of Voldemort's story entailed.  
  
It took them a few days to get settled in the apartment Tom had found for them. It was perfect really. Small, of course, they could afford nothing else. There was the master bedroom for Grace and another bedroom, not much larger than a walk-in closet, for Charlie. There was a kitchen, and a bathroom of course. The kitchen was spacious enough for a small table where the two of them could eat. The living room was the largest room in the apartment, about the size of the den back home in the Haven...stop that, Grace berated herself. Stop thinking about your parents' house as your home. Stop thinking about Britain.   
  
Luckily they didn't have to buy any furniture. Tom had devised a system which magically moved all their furniture (it wasn't much, but it was enough) from one temporary home to another. Everything was ready when they arrived.   
  
It was on the third day after their arrival that Grace went job hunting. Charlie gave her very specific directions to the diner he had mentioned. She would have explored other options first, just to spite him, if the diner hadn't been the closest potential place of employment to their apartment.   
  
The diner was called Melinda's. It was small, barely in business, and perfect. It was a hang out for the locals, specializing in coffee, waffles, and the greasiest burgers in town. She had dressed as nicely as possible, which meant a khaki skirt and soft blue blouse. The outfit was out of place in the dingy, homey diner. A trucker and a couple of high school kids were the only customers when she walked in, all wearing denim. She felt at home immediately.  
  
"Hey lady, are you just going to stand there all day or what?" a youth from behind the counter said. He seemed to be around her age, maybe a bit younger. His hair was the same golden brown of pancakes, his face was lightly dusted with freckles, and his eyes were bright blue. He was scowling.  
  
"I'd like to apply for a job," she answered confidently, stepping forward. It was all about confidence, she reminded herself. God knew she had enough experience with waitressing to be confident by now.  
  
"Here?" he echoed, sounding doubtful as he looked her up and down. She raised an eyebrow and he sighed. "Boss!"  
  
"What is it, Nate?" a woman snapped irritably from somewhere in the kitchen behind.  
  
"Some chick wants a job!" he shouted. A stout, middle-aged woman, presumably "boss", emerged through a door to the left wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her hair had been in a bun earlier, but most if it was now flyaway, curling straight out from her head like antennas. She had an apron tied around her waist and it had been white at some point in the past.   
  
"You want to apply for a job?" the woman asked, her voice nearly suspicious, as if she didn't believe anyone would willingly seek employment there.  
  
"Yes," Grace replied, nodding. "Unless you're not hiring."  
  
"We're always hiring," the woman replied. She held out her hand. "My name's Molly Buchanon."  
  
"Grace Peters," Grace replied, clasping the proffered hand. Molly's handshake was as strong as a man's. The hands were calloused and sure.  
  
"What hours are you looking for?" she asked without further preamble. Grace, who had been expecting an application form, was somewhat taken aback, but answered without hesitation.  
  
"Full time, whenever you need me," she replied. "I'm always available."  
  
"You've done this before?"  
  
"I have been a waitress and hostess in various restaurants throughout the United States for the last several years," she replied.  
  
"Have you graduated high school?" her keen eyes penetrated through Grace's golden ones. The fatal question. The one that lost her more jobs and opportunities here than any other. She could have lied, but she was sick of lying. She lowered her gaze and answered softly.  
  
"No."  
  
"When can you start working?" the woman replied.   
  
"Tomorrow," Grace replied, trying not to get her hopes up. Molly nodded briskly.  
  
"Be here at six thirty for opening. Nate here will show you the ropes."  
  
"Hey now!" Nate argued. "Damn it, Boss, I've only been here a month and a half myself."  
  
"Pat's taking the week off, so it will just be us three, plus old Jim of course," Molly continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. Grace got the feeling that's how she dealt with most obstacles.   
  
"Jim?" she asked Nate quietly.  
  
"The cook," Nate scowled as if she should have known this, "He's a mute and has a temper only slightly better than a crazed chipmunk."  
  
"Oh," Grace replied, unsure of how to react. Molly ignored their exchange.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow then, Gabbie," she said, turning away to return to the kitchen  
  
"Grace," she corrected, trying not to sound forceful.   
  
"Grace, right. Sorry," Molly called over her shoulder, "Nate shouldn't you be brewing another pot of joe?" Nate gritted his teeth.   
  
"See you tomorrow morning," Grace said gently.  
  
"Whatever," he replied sullenly, storming off to brew the coffee. With a sigh Grace turned and walked the two blocks back to the apartment.  
  
"What did you think of Nathaniel?" Charlie asked the moment she opened the door.   
  
"Nathaniel?" Grace echoed blankly, tossing her purse into the chair then sinking onto the sofa, as was her habit.   
  
"You call him Nate," Charlie rolled his eyes.  
  
"He was very rude," she replied, not pausing to logic how he knew about Nate. He'd probably known of Nate for years. It was one of the perks of being able to read the future.  
  
"For now," Charlie replied cryptically. Grace rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Grace inspected herself in the bathroom mirror the next morning. Her fiery red hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that she hoped would hold better than Molly's had the day before. She had thrown on her most comfortable pair of jeans and a white blouse. She assumed she would be given an apron and nametag upon her arrival.   
  
It wasn't her best look, but it was comfortable and Grace had become a firm believer in comfort. She threw on a light jacket. It was May, and pleasantly warm in the day time, but the sun had barely risen and it wouldn't do well for her to catch a cold in the first week of her stay in Philadelphia. Throwing the mirror one last glance, she turned and made ready for a new day.  
  
"Good luck, Mother," a small voice from the hall made her jump.  
  
"Charlie!" Grace exclaimed, looking down at her son's blank countenance and biting back her annoyance, "What are you doing awake?"  
  
"Just wanted to wish you luck," he replied. Grace bit her lip...Charlie had never felt the need to wish her luck on a new job before.  
  
"Why?" she asked. It was impossible to obtain answers through subtle hints when dealing with Charlie. He shrugged.   
  
"You and Nate are in for it," he replied. Grace raised her eyebrows, trying to pick apart this enigmatic statement and find the meaning beneath it. "You're going to be late, Mother," he reminded her.  
  
"Right," she nodded. "Good bye, Charlie," she said, kissing his forehead. He allowed this indignity (he would consider it nothing less) without comment, his wide, owlish eyes following her until the apartment door closed behind her.  
  
Grace learned two things in her first full day at Melinda's. Firstly, the busiest hours were morning hours. It seemed to be more of a coffee shop or waffle house than a diner. Secondly, Nate considered her a nuisance. This annoyed Grace to no end. What had she done to him, besides take a job at the same diner? And where did he get off treating her as if she were some sixteen-year-old punk who just dropped out of high school?  
  
The job was basic, like the last ten she had had. The hardest part was getting used to the new slang, learning the new menu, and referring to Coca Cola as 'soda' and not 'pop'. By the end of the week she was feeling pretty confident in her ability to keep a secure job at Melinda's until Damian's next attack or the place went out of business.  
  
The job had one definite perk: down time. She spent more time sitting around behind the counter staring out of the window than waiting on anyone. After three days she began bringing her tattered novels, the ones she had read several times but couldn't part with. Nate scowled when she read, as if it shouldn't be allowed. This only encouraged her further.  
  
She really shouldn't have been teasing the pour kid, but it was so easy! Whenever he was embarrassed his whole face would flush an amazing shade of scarlet. She's never known ANYONE who could blush like that, even James, whose cheeks would sometimes turn the color of brick. She shoved James from her mind.  
  
"What trash are you reading now?" Nate snapped, leaning against the wall behind the counter. After a week he had finally accepted her presence and the fact that she didn't intend on leaving any time in the near future. He tried to leer at her, but a face that innocent wasn't meant for leering. The best he could work up was a friendly scowl.  
  
"It's not trash," Grace informed him haughtily. Eight years of practical poverty had done little to conquer her natural pride. "It's The Scarlet Letter."  
  
It was one of her favorites, a book she had never fully appreciated until her move to America. Hermione had tried to make her read it back in fifth year, and Grace had dropped it after two chapters, finding it incredibly dull. But now she followed Hester Prynne's life diligently. There was something about the Puritan outcast who had committed adultery. There was something about the dedicated mother who only went on living for the sake of her little daughter, her little Pearl. The two cases weren't similar, but there was enough that Grace felt a kinship with Hester. Naturally, she didn't express any of this to Nate, who didn't even know she was a mother, let alone the complicated situation behind it.  
  
"The Scarlet Letter?" he repeated as if she were insane, "I remember reading that in freshman lit. One of the most boring books I was ever forced to read, and that includes Walden. Why the hell are you reading that?"  
  
"It is not boring," she defended staunchly. "Just because delinquent kids like yourself don't appreciate the full message-"  
  
"Please," he rolled his eyes. "So the saintly Minister and the lonely almost certainly widowed wife fell in love and had an affair. What's the big deal?"  
  
Somehow, Grace felt as if he were attacking her personally and not her book. 'So the goody-two-shoes spoiled Gryffindor had the Head Boy's baby? What's the big deal?' She refrained from swearing, but the thoughts caused the very beginnings of tears to well in her eyes. She forced them away-what a silly thing to cry over-but there must have been a change in her expression because Nate's face lost all attempts at scowling or leering and changed to shame and concern.  
  
"I...I didn't think you would be offended..."  
  
"I'm not," Grace argued. He looked doubtful. What an expressive face the boy has! She thought. "I'm really not offended...I mean it's just a book..."  
  
"Well, I mean, you looked upset," he explained uncomfortably, "Sometimes things like books really mean something to people."  
  
"Yeah," Grace replied, amazed that he understood her reaction. He hadn't struck her as the sensitive type. He smiled easily at her.  
  
"I guess we got off on the wrong foot," he said. "So, let's try again," he held out his hand, "Hello, my name is Nate McCoy."  
  
"I'm Grace Peters," she replied, grinning as she shook his hand. Americans were very funny sometimes. "So, I take it Nate is short for Nathaniel?"  
  
"Unfortunately," he made a face and she let out a repressed giggle. They were still shaking hands. He looked down, as if to study their clasped hands. When he finally let go and looked back at her, it was with a curious expression.  
  
"That's an interesting tattoo," he commented, gesturing to her left arm.   
  
Grace felt her blood freeze and repressed the intense urge to press her hand over the Mark and make it disappear. She didn't bother trying to hide it in Muggle America. Even in magical America it wasn't really necessary. Most American wizarding folk wouldn't recognize the Dark Mark if they saw it and if they did they assumed she was starting over and avoided her. No one here really knew the seriousness of the crimes the Mark suggested. Some Muggles even liked the Mark, thinking (like Nate) that it was some kind of original tattoo. At least no one had asked her where she'd had it done so they could get one similar  
  
She suddenly had a vision of giving directions to Flint Manor to an eager American teenaged boy with black fingernails, black lipstick, spiked green hair and several body piercings.   
  
Or not.  
  
The thought helped her force a little laugh. "It is, isn't it? My parents flipped..." Well, that was true.  
  
"I bet," he replied, sounding sad. She was curious, but didn't pursue the matter. "So," he said, changing the subject abruptly, "What are you reading?"  
  
"The Scarlet Letter," she replied. Their one customer had been following the exchange with interest. He rolled his eyes and his gaze shifted to the window. Obviously he didn't like reruns.  
  
"I remember reading that freshman year," Nate informed her once again. "Nathaniel Hawthorne, correct?"  
  
"Yes," she replied, somewhat amazed that he knew the author.   
  
"Just another reason to hate the name Nathaniel," he grinned. She grinned back.  
  
That was the day Grace started her first solid friendship since she had deserted James and Angel eight years before.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"How did you wind up working here, anyway?" Nate asked curiously one afternoon. Grace sighed. She was finally feeling more comfortable with Philadelphia in general, feeling safe leaving Charlie at home every day. She's been there for nearly a month now. Nate was a curious yet cautious friend, who seemed nearly as reluctant to trust fellow humans as she was, almost as if he had seen what they were capable of as she had. She shook the thought from her mind. She wouldn't wish that experience on anyone, let alone innocent, unsuspecting, naïve Nate McCoy.  
  
"I just moved into an apartment a few blocks away," she answered easily. There was no point in lying to the Muggle community about her whereabouts. To do otherwise would have been extremely suspicious.  
  
"I know where you mean," he replied.   
  
"Have you lived around here for a while then?" she asked curiously.  
  
"'Bout three months. I was in New York for a year, but even the Big Apple gets boring eventually," he shrugged. "I usually don't stay anywhere long."  
  
"Why?" she asked, curious. She didn't understand why anyone would willingly move constantly. She wanted nothing more than to settle down permanently. People were like that, she mused, always wanting what they can't have.   
  
He shrugged in response, and Grace didn't push him for answers. She knew what it was like to have secrets, and respected the desire to keep things private.  
  
"Well, you should come around to my place and have dinner some time," Grace said casually. She'd had her first couple paychecks and had already paid the rent and bought some groceries. Grace usually spent any spare money on Charlie and his education, and after that she gave to the poor. It was a way of trying to give back to the world, she supposed, some silly urge to repay it for the lives she had taken. She was feeling generous and she had decided she liked Nate. She wondered what Charlie would think of THAT.  
  
"I wouldn't want to intrude," Nate replied, his cheeks reddening.   
  
"You wouldn't be," she assured him, "I wouldn't be making anything fancy, but at least you wouldn't be eating alone."  
  
He was a bachelor. Anyone with rudimentary intelligence would have figured that out by now. Her comment had the desired effect.  
  
"Well...some day," he replied. "When I can do the same."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked, frowning. He gave a full blush that time, his entire face becoming that unique shade of vermilion. However, he was saved by the opening of the door and a local couple came wandering in. Grace recognized them immediately, seeing as they ate at Melinda's once a week because the husband loved Jim's onion rings. Grace hurried over to hand them menus and silverware and take drink orders. But her mind was still brooding over Nate.  
  
They had been working the afternoon shift. Pat had returned, taking over her usual morning shift. Pat was an interesting character, to say the least. She was short and a little plump with frizzing gray hair. She worried that everyone she met was too thin, especially Grace and Nate, who were both lean due to body type and low income. She had a motherly air that reminded Grace of her grandmother back in the Burrow. She also had a mother's temper, and when things weren't going her way she would explode into fast and garbled Polish. She was well-liked by the customers and by Nate and Grace despite the Polish and was possibly the only person on earth Jim would tolerate for more than a few moments.  
  
Pat was not Grace's problem. Nate was obviously ashamed of something...he wore his heart on his sleeve. Carefully going over their conversation and wishing she had Charlie's ability to relive it completely she came to the conclusion it had something to do with his living arrangements. This stirred her curiosity intensely.  
  
Grace Weasley had developed a nasty suspicious mind. She realized now that Nate's calm demeanor and easy smiles and blushes and mishaps may have put her off her guard. She was about to let him into her house...what if he was going to use that invitation later after he had developed a plan? If he was in contact with Damian...it was crazy, of course, but she knew she wasn't the only witch pretending to be a Muggle. If Nate was really an enemy she had unwittingly given him the opportunity he needed.  
  
She kept from swearing at her own stupidity. People were not to be trusted, and one day she would remember it. There was nothing for it; she would have to find out where he was staying so she could keep an eye on him. If Damian was cooking up a plot she would have to get in touch with Tom and move again, but it would be worth it. Anything to protect Charlie.  
  
Perhaps she should have waited, but Grace had never been patient. The two of them closed the diner by themselves. Jim always left the minute they officially closed, and of course Pat and Molly were already home. They said friendly goodbyes and parted their separate ways: Nate going north and Grace going south. Grace ducked into an alley and watched his retreating form. He turned right at the end of the block.  
  
She followed him. She knew she looked ridiculous, but she didn't much care. She hated to suspect Nate, she really did, but she trusted no one with Charlie's potential safety.  
  
She followed Nate for a good ten-minute stroll before he finally reached a door he pulled open and entered. Grace was about to follow him inside when she stopped and read the sign above the door.  
  
The Center for the Homeless.  
  
She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She just stood there for a moment, staring. That's why he was ashamed, why he said he would wait until he could do the same...as in invite her to his home. But he didn't HAVE a home, which was the whole problem!   
  
She starting to feel ashamed of herself even beginning to associate Nate with Damian... he was the only person she had met in the last eight years who even slightly cared about her. She was just going to turn and begin to walk home when the door opened and Nate stepped out.  
  
She had no idea what had compelled him to come back outside, but his stare was focused on her, his cheeks red with shame and anger, his blue eyes flashing. Grace felt her own cheeks flush, realizing she'd been caught.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, as if he were fighting to keep himself from yelling.   
  
"I..." Grace tried to come up with a plausible story, stuttering in the process. "I was just...I mean, I wanted to know..."  
  
"Well, you know now, okay?" he snapped, looking more angry than she had ever seen him. "I almost have enough money to get the hell out of here so why don't you just leave me alone about it, okay? I'm working, as you should know, and I'm not buying crack or booze, if that's what you think."  
  
"No!" she cried, "No, that's not what I thought at all!"  
  
"Then why are you here?" he cried.  
  
"I just wanted to know what you meant and why you were so nervous about coming over," she answered miserably. It was the closest thing to the truth she could reveal and the only story she could think up. "Nate, there's no need to be ashamed-"  
  
"Bullshit, Grace!" he yelled. She cringed. He was right.  
  
"Look, I would be in there too if I didn't have a...a relative who helps me along," she tried to explain.  
  
"Well, its good that your parents can help you out," he snarled, "Mine are dead."  
  
The words rang through the empty street. Grace closed her eyes against the pain. So that was why he moved so often. An orphan. So many things suddenly made sense.  
  
"My parents are alive," Grace replied softly, "But they disowned me. The man who helps me is my son's father."  
  
"Your son?" he echoed, sounding as confused as she felt. She sighed.  
  
"I ran away from home," she explained. She felt as if a dam had burst in her mind and she babbled with the relief. "I grew up in England, but I got involved with a gang and got pregnant...my parents didn't want anything to do with me."  
  
Well, that wasn't true. But it was the best Muggle parallel she could come up with on the spot.  
  
"Look Nate," she continued, "My point is you can't do it alone. Get out of poverty, that is. I would still be in the slums of France without...without my son's father's help. I just want to help you."  
  
"How can you help me?" he asked, his eyes blank as if he couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. Grace sympathized with the feeling.  
  
"I have a couch," she replied. He started to protest, but she cut him off, "No, Nate, really. Just until you get on your feet. You can help me pay for the rent, if it makes you feel better. It will be easier for both of us, if you think about it."  
  
"Grace I...as tempting as that offer is I can't-"  
  
"Please," she begged, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the desire to help him. "Please, Nate. Just for a little while, just try it. Meet Charlie. I'm sure he would love you."  
  
"Charlie?" Nate echoed.  
  
"My son," she replied. "Please, Nate?"  
  
"I...I..."  
  
"Just for a few weeks, at least? Just to see what happens?"  
  
"I...fine. Alright, if you're that stubborn about it. Let me get together what I have."  
  
"Good," she replied, nodding as he went inside. She smiled. It felt good to be able to help people without killing others.  
  
The walk back to the apartment was mostly silent. Grace wasn't sure what to say and Nate seemed to be wondering if he should regret this decision. Grace was familiar with how it felt to take charity from people. He didn't like it any more than she did.  
  
The apartment was on the second floor. She reached into her purse to search for a key when the door opened.  
  
"Good evening, Mother. Good evening, Mr. McCoy," Charlie said, nodding his head to both of them. He didn't seem surprised in the slightest to see Nate. Grace gritted her teeth. Of course he wouldn't be surprised. He must have known this was going to happen.  
  
"Hello," Nate replied, smiling, "You must be Charlie," he continued in the condescending tone most childless adults use to speak to young children. It was the tone Charlie used to address most adults. Grace rolled her eyes and swept inside, letting her purse fall.  
  
"I've taken it upon myself to make dinner," Charlie said once everyone was inside and he had shut and locked the door. Nate looked surprised, but Grace hardly acknowledged this. Charlie was a better cook than she was. He had the advantage of being able to memorize cook books and cooking shows. "It will be done shortly," Charlie continued, before turning and trotting into the kitchen.  
  
"Are you sure that's wise?" Nate asked concernedly, "Letting him cook all alone like that? And where's the baby-sitter?"  
  
"Charlie is a wonderful cook and quite competent in the kitchen," Grace replied, "And I can't afford a baby-sitter. Besides, Charlie hates them."  
  
"Oh," Nate replied. "But doesn't he go to school?"  
  
"He's home-schooled," Grace replied, releasing for the first time how difficult it would be to explain Charlie's spellbooks, cauldron and wand. "He's very intelligent," she continued.  
  
"I'm sure he is," Nate smiled. Grace considered the smile a challenge.  
  
"Charlie!" she called.  
  
"Yes, Mother?" Charlie asked, appearing at the door.   
  
"Recite the quadratic formula, please," she instructed.   
  
"X is negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four (ac) over two a." Charlie ranted.  
  
"What Shakespeare have you read lately?" she continued sweetly as Nate's eyes widened.  
  
"You know very well I've read everything by Shakespeare," Charlie replied. "I was rereading Hamlet last week, and my opinion hasn't changed. He's a selfish prig. 'I must cruel if only to be kind' indeed!"  
  
"Can you recite to periodic table, please?"  
  
"Mother," Charlie replied, sounding torn between amusement and annoyance, "Are you trying to show me off?"  
  
"Just do it," she snapped. He sighed.  
  
"Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Berylium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Flourine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium..."  
  
Nate stared. Grace smirked. Charlie rolled his eyes. It made an oddly domestic scene. It was a strange family unit, really. Nate immediately decided both Grace and Charlie were completely insane. He also decided that he wouldn't mind being insane with them. 


	3. Jealousy

A/N: I am SO sorry that it took me so long to update. Things have been crazy busy around here...school is a constant struggle (I hate algebra. I hate chemistry. Sometimes I even hate English), plus I was in the school musical, Oklahoma! (It was a raving success. We got three standing ovations opening night ^_^) so that has been taking up a LOT of my time.  
  
But now I'm BACK! And now, without further ado or excuses, I'd like to bring you *drum roll please* our feature presentation!  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Jealousy  
  
~Don't you love the life you killed  
  
The priest is on the phone  
  
Your father hit the wall  
  
Your ma disowned you  
  
Don't suppose I'll ever know  
  
What it means to be a man  
  
Something I can't change  
  
I'll live around it  
  
I want to wake up where you are  
  
I won't say anything at all  
  
So why don't you slide?~  
  
**Goo Goo Dolls' "Slide"  
  
After four years of being a professional Auror, James Potter was finally starting to convince people that he could stand on his own to feet without Daddy's help. It was painful to hear the other guys talking about him. Yes, he had been in the first cut for entering Auror's Academy. Yes, it was a direct result of being Harry Potter's son. That didn't make it any easier to hear them snicker.  
  
Seven years after graduation from Hogwarts, James had finally come to terms with the fact that he probably never would have made first cut if not for his father's influence. Harry was not only a national hero, after all, but the Minister of Magic as well. But now, after three years of training and four years of hard work, he was finally starting to get a name for himself.  
  
That didn't mean his father's name went away. Once a month every Auror squadron had to send a man over to the Ministry with the tedious, but necessary, paperwork. As a rule, Aurors avoided contact with Ministry officials-yet another reason James was scorned back in the day. Young blooded Aurors tended not to trust the snobbish beaurocracy James had grown up with.  
  
James, however, was on middle ground, perfectly safe (in the everyone else's opinion) on Ministry turf as well as in the Auror HQ. Which explains why they always managed to make him the gopher and ship him and the paperwork to the Ministry.  
  
He hadn't minded so much as a rookie, and after the first year and a half James had become adept at avoiding the dreaded duty. As for his own thoughts, he hated confronting his father while he was in uniform. He hated being Daddy's son. He knew he was competent, and had become more secure with his position as a Potter over the years, but he still avoided prodding the old resentment whenever possible.  
  
Today, it had not been possible.  
  
By June even the rookies were seasoned enough to avoid James's tricks to make them take care of delivering the paperwork, and they wouldn't get a new batch of recruits until August. Which is why James found himself standing in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, a scowl on his face and a thick manila folder in his grasp which had to be left with the Minister's secretary. Her name was Ruby, a kind old woman James had known all his life. That just made it worse.  
  
From the ground floor he considered his options. There were several ways to get to the Minister's office. His first instinct was the direct and quickest route, but that would require direct passage through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his mother's office. If there was person James wanted to avoid more than his father, it was his mother. A man can slip by when he uses his father's influence. A mama's boy is never forgiven.  
  
And James was, he had realized over the years, one of the worst cases of "mama's boys".  
  
Well, James was more afraid of Hermione than even the rest of the guys in the squadron, so the plan was to not meet his mother while in public. Which meant he'd have to take one of the roundabout ways.  
  
He finally settled on cutting through the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Once he had made up his mind we weaved throughout the building with ease. No one bothered him. If they didn't notice the Auror's robes, they noticed the exact resemblance to the Minister. Everyone knew James Potter.  
  
He was getting along very nicely, without anyone stopping to ask annoying questions or the like. He didn't slow until he just after he had passed the Obliviator Headquarters when he heard someone call his name.  
  
For one dreaded moment, he was sure it was his mother. He spun around, his eyes wide, to see a young woman. She was petit and thin, with smooth, milky skin. Her hair was fiery red and her eyes were a penetrating silvery gray.  
  
"Angel!" he cried, grinning. He had completely forgotten in his scheming of ways to avoid his parents that his best friend had been moved to her own office. It was a shabby, cubby hole of an office, with no windows or much working room, but it was a private office nonetheless, with a shiny nameplate on the front reading Angel M. Flint, Assistant Director of the Obliviation Squad.  
  
"Were you just going to pass right on by without saying hello?" she asked teasingly, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing on Daddy's turf anyway?" she teased. He laughed.  
  
"Dropping off the paperwork," he made a face.   
  
"All the rookies know you by now?" she grinned, "Can you spare a few moments to talk to your poor neglected friend? You haven't been over for ages and the kids are dying to see you."  
  
"I've been busy," he apologized, following her into the office. He looked around approvingly. She had fixed it up since his last visit with cheery colors and feminine flair. "How's Will coming with the alphabet?"  
  
"He's doing fine," she smiled, "Very advanced for a three-year-old, they say," she added proudly.  
  
"He'll be four in a few months," James reminded, smiling. He loved his godchildren dearly, and was watching them grow with fascination. He couldn't believe how fast they were becoming taller. Time flew with children.   
  
Angel mentioned something about coming for dinner, and he nodded distractingly. His eyes were examining the pictures on her desk interestedly. James only had one on his own tiny desk that he hardly ever saw. She had the same picture, taken on graduation day. It was James and Angel in their long black robes, grinning and smiling, with Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Ron and Rayven walking in and out of the background from time to time.   
  
However, Angel had practically an entire lifetime on her desk. Her wedding day, her parents' twentieth anniversary party, and of course about fifteen pictures of Will and Gracie at various stages in their young lives. There were two family portraits with a grinning Tom and Angel proudly displaying their two beautiful children. Will's hair was as red as his mother's, with light brown eyes and a good amount of freckles. Gracie, however, more closely resembled her father, with darker hair and eyes.   
  
James smiled as he watched them all waving from their frames. His smile fell when his eyes landed on the last picture. There was no Tom, no Will, no baby Gracie. The image was taken before their time, long before. It was of three children, looking to be around age fifteen or so. James recognized the one on the left as himself, with the lanky arms and lopsided grin of his teenaged years. The girl on the right was undoubtedly Angel. But it was the girl in the middle he studied.  
  
He hadn't seen or heard from Grace Weasley in the last eight and a half years. This picture seemed to be about ten years old. Grace was just a carefree, laid back teenager then, with wild red hair and bright eyes of gold with a heart to match. James felt his stomach clench at the sight of her in the picture, just the way he remembered her. After all these years, Grace rarely entered his thoughts. He liked it that way. It was less painful.  
  
Angel seemed to have noticed that she had lost his attention. She followed his gaze with interest, trying to find the picture that could make him stare in such a fashion.  
  
It didn't take her long. She knew that James ran from his problems, and nothing had damaged him more emotionally than Grace. The three had once been the closest of friends, inseparable. Now they knew nothing of her whereabouts or welfare...or even if she was alive. Angel had first taken up a profound study of Obliviation to see if there was a way to reverse powerful Obliviating charms without damaging the victim. She had yet to find a solution.  
  
It was her Uncle Charlie who had been Obliviated. The main problem was that he had done it to himself. He was furious now, of course, and frustrated, trying to remember those few crucial hours he had wiped from his memory. Those hours were the key to finding Grace. But it was to no avail.  
  
The silence had become tense. James was the one to break it.  
  
"I'd better go," he finally said, tearing his eyes away and trying to smile. "Business, you know."  
  
"Dinner on Friday," she reminded him softly. He nodded and left, his head high and his pace unhesitating. She sighed. Life was complicated enough without sad memories of lost friends.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was a peculiar relationship, to say the least. Few understood the exact standing of Grace "Peters" and Nathaniel McCoy. They didn't really understand it themselves. Nate would have called them friends, but Grace probably wouldn't have even stretched it that far. In her opinion, Nate was this poor kid with an unfortunate history who needed a place to stay besides the homeless shelter until he got back on his feet. Period. There was nothing else to it, no emotion involved (Grace hated emotion), just a charitable act on her part. Not that she would have offended him by calling it charity. Charlie, who usually had entire essays in his mind about every occurrence in their lives and was not afraid to share them, was strangely silent on the subject. When Grace asked him what he thought of Nate, Charlie shrugged. It was a first in Grace's memory.  
  
Luckily, where as back at home everybody would have had their noses in the relationship searching for scandal, the Americans shrugged and said; "it's their business". This was mainly because they were poor diner workers and not movie stars, but poverty has its perks too. Especially when you're trying to be inconspicuous.   
  
One person who had plenty of opinion on the subject was Pat. Molly, Pat and Jim found the arrangement out quicker than they had expected (they had underestimated the length Pat would go for good gossip.) Pat highly disapproved. Being an old fashioned mama, she found the whole affair scandalous-which shows you how desperate for scandal she was. However, she couldn't get in more than a few good lectures, because Molly told her to leave off. She seemed fond of the idea.   
  
Grace rolled her eyes at the thought. Everyone thought they were sleeping together. She didn't deny it because they wouldn't have believed her. The fact was; she barely let him touch her even in casual conversation. Grace didn't trust the touch of a man, even after all these years.   
  
After a few weeks it became less awkward. Grace stopped flinching every time she saw Nate asleep on her couch when she walked into the living room in the mornings. Some days she would sleep in and wake up to find Charlie and Nate watching television, usually arguing over the remote. Charlie wanted to watch the Discovery Channel. Nate wanted to watch cartoons. Go figure.  
  
As a matter of fact, Grace found herself liking the arrangement more and more as time went on despite herself. It was almost like a marriage, except held together by...well, a friendly affection and mutual respect as opposed to love, passion, and a physical relationship.   
  
They talked about things, at night when they were eating together and during the long afternoons when the diner was empty. They discussed education (a missed opportunity for both), music (he liked jazz and ballads, she liked rock and roll), politics (incredibly boring in both opinions), and literature ("I STILL don't understand how you can stay awake through The Scarlet Letter!"), among other things.   
  
Charlie watched the two grow closer with a fond, if somewhat distant smile that should not have been found on a child's face. He was happy that his mother had found someone she could connect with at last.  
  
However, there was a slight jealousy he was unwilling to admit even to himself. It was the first time in Charlie's life that Grace's attention hadn't been devoted entirely to him. Occasionally Charlie even had to raise his voice to make a statement. Once and a while he got the impression they wanted to talk alone...without him. Charlie knew this would happen some day, and he accepted it nobly, yet he hadn't expected the sacrifice to be so great.   
  
He went to bed one night feeling particularly torn between his happiness for his mother's newfound friendship (for friendship it was, whether she would admit it or not) and his own jealous feelings. He only read one chapter of Hogwarts, A History before turning out his light for bed. He was in no mood for reading, for probably the first time in his life.  
  
He fell asleep quicker than usual. Of course, for Charlie, there was little difference between sleep and waking life because he always dreamt, always knew he was dreaming, and always remembered every detail of the dreams. His visions took him to a brief stop in Britain to see Baby Gracie's third birthday party and a clip of Harry's work at the Ministry. Charlie sighed in contentment. It was here in his visions that he felt the most at home...  
  
His heart suddenly stopped as he recognized the setting of his next dream. He was no longer in the present, but in the distant pass. He wasn't sure how exactly he recognized it, seeing as he had never had a vision of it before, but there was a certain feeling that he belonged. This was not why he panicked.  
  
It was Annabella again. He felt his heart sink. He was so sure, SO SURE that Philadelphia was the place...but the presence of the princess of Parsel showed otherwise.   
  
She was much older than the last time he had seen her. It seemed about ten years of her life had passed. He frowned. It was unusual for there to be that much of a gap in time. Her hair was still silken gold, but it was shorter and pulled out of her face. She was dressed plainly and her hands were calloused. She was smiling, which was also strange. Charlie turned his attention to the man standing next to her.  
  
It was Godric Gryffindor. Charlie didn't know how he could be so sure, but he was. His hair was dark and wavy, falling nearly to his shoulders. His broad shoulders were encased by a scarlet cloak, and his high, noble brow was unlined. He had an arm around Annabella.  
  
There were three children standing in front of the handsome couple. The oldest was a boy who looked strangely familiar, although once again Charlie couldn't place the resemblance. He had jet-black hair and friendly blue eyes. Standing next to him was a figure he could hardly see, because it was completely covered in a long, gray cloak. He squinted and decided the delicate features were that of a young female, but she was looking at the ground and her hair was completely tucked into the cloak.  
  
The youngest was a boy around ten years of age and Charlie's heart skipped at the sight of him. The boy was...Charlie. No one else would have understood the assumption; the two boys hardly looked alike. The other boy's hair was golden brown, with intense blue eyes and a pale complexion. But it had nothing to do with actual appearance.  
  
It was this boy who left the little family and approached Charlie. Charlie stared, too confused to move. His panic only increased when, for the first time in his life, one of the characters from his visions addressed him directly. "Good evening, Charles Weasley," he said, blinking slowly, "I've wondered when I would be seeing you."  
  
"Ga...Galdinus?" Charlie whispered, suddenly realizing he must be seeing Annabella's son, the Heir of Slytherin...and Charlie's ancestor. The boy made a face in response.  
  
"I go by Galdin," he explained, "But it's a horrible name any way you look at it." Charlie relaxed immediately. For the first time in his life it was like he was talking to someone that really understood him. It was wonderful.  
  
"How can you see me?" Charlie asked without preamble, "I'm in a vision."  
  
"So am I," Galdin replied, smirking, "The divination runs in the family. It just took about a thousand years to pass it on. Oh, and by the way Charlie, the Death Eaters aren't coming just because you see my mother there. I've used that to warn you in the past, but that's all over now. You were right, everything goes down in this city, so don't screw it up by waking the whole house."  
  
"Why now?" Charlie challenged, intensely curious, "What's happening? Why haven't you communicated with me before?"  
  
"I won't be communicating with you directly again," he replied brusquely, "But I have to get in contact with every heir born from this line so I can pass down the prophecy regarding the Dagger."  
  
"Whose prophecy?" Charlie asked.  
  
"Mine, of course," Galdin replied, his voice smug.  
  
"Well?" Charlie grew impatient, "What is it?" Galdin smirked and allowed Charlie to wallow in curiosity for a moment before he finally recited...almost chanted the ancient prophecy:  
  
"The Blood of the Innocent must be Willingly Spilled upon the Alter  
  
While the Sacrifice is Presented and the Heir of the Name is Waiting  
  
The Resurrected Song of the Daughter of Gryffindor  
  
Shall Destroy the Hope of the Chosen Darkness"  
  
"That's it?" Charlie asked after a few moments of silence when Galdin's tones died away.  
  
"Yes," Galdin replied, sounding almost offended at Charlie's reaction. "I would warn you not to forget it if I thought there were any danger of it."  
  
"I don't understand," Charlie commented. It was statement he had never made in his life. Galdin smirked in response.  
  
"I can only give you one clue," he replied smugly.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Galdin pointed to the remaining family, which Charlie had forgotten. Godric, Annabella and the oldest boy didn't move, as if they were completely unaware of Galdin's sudden disappearance. The girl, however, looked up and lowered her hood. Charlie felt his eyes widen.  
  
Bright golden eyes stared into his while fiery red hair tumbled from the hood of the cloak.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Charlie barely looked up from his book when Nate and his mother left for work. He waited a good ten minutes before setting the book down with a sigh.  
  
Everything was going as Fate intended, as usual. Fate was not to be trifled with, as Charlie was well aware. His mother didn't understand, really. She didn't understand the absolute awesome power of Fate.  
  
It was odd that he called the power Fate. It was the same power some called God, or Allah, or Buddha, or any of those other almighty deities. They were all the same being in the long run, as Charlie knew. There was one Higher Power which guided life. Some called it God. He called it Fate.  
  
Nate was crucial in Fate's plan for Charlie and Grace. Powerful as he was, Charlie was humble in a way most humans cannot experience. He had seen several hundred lifetimes and knew how very insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. He and his mother, his grandparents and his father, Voldemort, Dumbledore and Harry Potter were all mere specks when one looked at the entire span of history, no more important than your average paper boy. But Fate had a specific plan for each little spec, a particular mission for each and every living thing. Charlie just happened to have a complicated destiny.  
  
He didn't know as much about Nate's history as he would have liked. One thing Charlie had grown used to was knowledge. He couldn't be surprised because as a general rule he knew every detail of what was going to be happening, sometimes years in advance, and his mind was structured with a perfect memory. It was like living in a constant state of deja-vu. However, he had a very limited profile of Nathaniel McCoy. Luckily, it was enough of a profile to know that Nate was not working with Damian Flint.  
  
Lately, his visions had becoming less frequent. He still had a mind-boggling amount of them (by now he had trained himself to be able to carry on entire conversations in real time and have a vision at the same time), but he knew Fate was preparing him for something big. He was actually rather annoyed that he wasn't being fully prepared.  
  
He had seen what was going to happen in March. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. The visions were given to him so he could make sure they were carried out. There was no way to fight Fate. He wished there were some way to prepare, but it was hopeless.  
  
In the meantime, Charlie had taken it upon himself to become as familiar with his surroundings as possible. He would need to know his way around Philadelphia.  
  
He always felt a slight qualm when he snuck out of the house, but he had been doing it for a few years now. If his mother came home early-it was unlikely that he wouldn't be warned, but possible-she would probably throttle him out of worry when he got home. He couldn't help it, curiosity always got the better of him. Besides, in this case there was an actual purpose.  
  
He went into his room and found his wand. After a moment of concentration he transfigured it into a pen. It was a complicated process, transfiguring one's wand. His mother didn't know how to do it. It was several years out of even Charlie's league, and he had had to practice diligently for over a year before he could do it properly. However, the results were invaluable. He knew enough self defensive hexes to get him out of trouble in case of an emergency.  
  
He locked the door when he left. One could never be too careful.  
  
It was Charlie's fifth afternoon on the town, and he had decided to go east that day. He had swiped twenty dollars from his mother. She wouldn't notice; he had made sure about that. And besides, with Nate now paying half the rent his mother could actually afford to spare twenty dollars.  
  
Whistling tunelessly, he walked to the bus station. The bus driver didn't say anything once he had handed over the change, but a few elderly women looked at him piteously. Women, he had realized early on in life, did not approve of unsupervised young children. But seeing as they disapproved of very young mothers with not so young children Charlie couldn't see any profit in going out with his mother to avoid the clucking tongues and shaking heads.  
  
He picked a random spot and climbed off the bus. It was sooner than he had intended, but he didn't mind.  
  
He walked around aimlessly for a few blocks. This was the better side of town, with lots of fancy town houses and apartments. He studied the buildings interestedly, learning the architecture by heart. Architecture was one of Charlie's chief interests, and a subject he studied adamantly when given the opportunity.   
  
He found himself standing near a park. It was a pretty little park, the kind a hoard of wealthy young mothers persuaded their husbands to persuade the Mayor to build for their band of toddling darlings. The darlings were a bit older now, around Charlie's age. There were a good number of them present, seeing as it was a lovely summer afternoon, and the mothers were sitting on the benches, laughing and gossiping among themselves.  
  
The kids were everywhere. There was a line to reach the slide, all the swings were occupied, and the sandbox was full. Five or six were assembled around the monkey bars. Charlie observed them the most, since they were the closest.  
  
There were five of them there, he realized, three girls and two boys There was a girl with blonde pigtails, another who kept pushing her brown hair out of her face impatiently, and a pretty black girl with cornrows. The black one had a bright yellow jumper with flowers printed on it and grass stains from playing with her friends. The other two girls were in the typical tee shirts and matching red tops featuring Big Bird. They were probably sisters. The boy currently crossing the bars was obviously the oldest, looking to be around nine. His shirt boasted him to be a Cubs fan, and he had a matching baseball cap. The younger boy watched jealously as the older one swung from bar to bar easily. The younger boy's shirt was blue and white striped with khaki pants with lots of pockets. He kept itching his nose.  
  
Charlie felt an odd tugging in his stomach. They were so very normal. He probably looked pathetic, he knew. He was the only child alone, with an old, plain green shirt and blue jeans. He didn't mind that. He wasn't afraid of talking to the others, really. He knew children were accepting and would play with him. But it just didn't feel RIGHT to play with little kids...sure, some of them were technically older than him in objective time. But he was so much older in reality.  
  
His age seemed to be persistent that afternoon, and he had an undeniable urge to go play with the other kids. He wondered what it would be like to be naïve. For a brief moment, he almost wished for childhood innocence, before frowning reasonably. Charlie had been given a great gift, and he should be grateful for it. He was chosen. Let the children play. They're having fun, the same way you do when you master a new spell. Leave them alone, Charlie, and forget about it. Your path is different.  
  
He turned and walked away without saying anything to the children on the monkey bars. He wished earnestly that Fate had happy and successful futures for all five of them.  
  
For the next block he had a vision concerning Tom talking to his mother-in-law, who was also his boss. Ginny laughed and asked about the children. Tom boasted. That was it.  
  
Charlie was not jealous of Tom's legitimate children. Charlie was special. He was secret. It wasn't Tom's fault that he couldn't boast about Charlie too.  
  
Charlie wandered aimlessly, and grinned widely when he found a library. It was a fair size, with a pretty brick front. He walked inside, his wide brown eyes inspecting everything curiously.   
  
It was darker inside, with the quiet, reverent feeling found only in libraries and museums. He wandered aimlessly, avoiding the colorful displays of easy-to-read books meant for children his age. To him the displays were disrespectful of the potential knowledge around him. Whenever he happened to glance at one his small, aristocratic nose would wrinkle in disgust.  
  
He eventually found himself near the fantasy section. He had a secret passion for books with magic and adventure. He knew the Muggle idea of magic was extraordinarily inaccurate, but he still reveled in their world. He had a particular weakness for Tolkien. He felt an odd kinship with Frodo Baggins.   
  
After several moments, he chose three of the thickest novels and one large tome entitled A Study of Psychology (he couldn't waste all his time dilly-dallying with fiction). He had acquired a local library card last week when he had traveled to the north side of town, and displayed it proudly to the librarian behind the counter near the entrance. He had to crane his neck to see her and stand on tip toes to see the surface of the counter. The world should be designed for the short, he thought in annoyance. He hated being vertically challenged on account of his age.  
  
The librarian looked at him dubiously, as if she didn't believe that he could read the books he had supplied. He merely smiled innocently. She informed him that the books here due back in two weeks and placed a reminder in one of the novels. Once outside, he ducked into an alley and shrank the books, slipping them into his pocket. He was anxious to read them and headed to the bus stop.  
  
He stared forlornly out the window as he headed back to the apartment, wishing there weren't quite so many potholes in the streets of Philadelphia. He was just reaching into his memory to reread The Return of the King when his eyes widened and he sat up suddenly.   
  
It wasn't a sight that would stir most people. His eyes had focused on the corner of Oakwood Road and Washington Street. There was a Starbucks on one side and a Walgreen's on the other. It looked hardly any different than any of the other street corners in the city.  
  
But Charlie recognized the place. He had seen it several times in his visions. This was where things were to be set in motion. This was the corner that would change Charlie's life forever.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The sun beat down on Philadelphia. Luckily the apartment had air conditioning, and even more luckily Grace had someone helping her pay the bills now, so she could now afford to turn the air all the way up to the point where she sometimes needed a blanket. It felt wonderful.  
  
It was strange, having all the extra money. Most people wouldn't have considered it anything to be excited about, but to her it was a Godsend. For the first time in her life she wouldn't have to scrape for almost a year before taking Charlie to a bookstore.  
  
Unlike England, there was some kind of magical outpost in every major American city, which in Grace's opinion was very convenient. There wasn't much in Philadelphia. Like the Muggle part of the city, the main attraction of Witching Corner (as it was known here) was the important history and the beginnings of magical government in the United States. No doubt Charlie had read up and was looking forward to the trip. Grace knew only the basics about magical America.  
  
The main problem with orchestrating an afternoon in Witching Corner was Nate. He was around all the time, and they were almost always working the same hours. Grace had wanted to make the trip in June, but it was nearly September before an opportunity presented itself.  
  
Pat had seven children, all grown and with kids of their own these days, scattered across the country. Only two still lived in Pennsylvania. Grace got the impression the other five had gotten as far from their mother as possible.  
  
However, Pat's birthday was August 29, and all of her brood would be flying in for the weekend. Grace decided to take full advantage of her absence as soon as she was informed of it one lazy afternoon the week after Independence Day.  
  
"Yes, we'll be in trouble the last weekend of the month," Molly sighed as Pat left, humming under her breath. There was a grand total of five customers at that moment. Grace and Nate had just arrived for their afternoon shift.  
  
"Why?" Grace asked, frowning.  
  
"Didn't I mention Pat's kids are coming into town?" Molly said.   
  
"No," Nate replied, as Grace's mind started whirling.  
  
"Why would you have a problem?" Grace asked.  
  
"She opens the place!" Molly snapped, as if this should have been obvious.  
  
"Well even I can do that," Grace replied, rolling her eyes. "I'll open and Nate will close. It's not that big of a deal."  
  
"Oh would you?" Molly asked, sounding relieved. Grace nodded.  
  
"It'll be terribly dull around here without you, Grace," Nate whined. She shrugged.  
  
"I think you can make do for one day," she replied.   
  
"Then its set," Molly said. "Now, isn't there SOMETHING you too could be doing?"  
  
"No," Nate replied rudely. Grace laughed. Molly rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.  
  
Nate complained the rest of the week about having to work alone on a Saturday afternoon, but Grace ignored him, instead focusing on the happiness she knew the outing would bring to Charlie. He hadn't responded when she told him she had finally set a date for the Witching Corner, but she could see his face light up, and he had spent an increased amount of time reading about the magical history of America.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Locking the door dutifully behind him, Charlie set off on yet another daring adventure to explore Philadelphia. Today his destination was southerly, although he didn't want to go too far from home. He was planning a fantastic dinner for his mother and Nate, and he wanted it to be finished when they got home. It was things like that that kept them from suspecting his adventures.  
  
He wandered a close section of the city with storefronts frowning down on him from every direction. He was in a crowd of people who jostled his small frame without much thought. They were the kind of people who didn't think much, Charlie thought with a private smile, they think just because I am young that I am silly and unimportant.   
  
He walked into a bookstore and stared wistfully for a while. He had some money, but he didn't want to spend it unless he had to. His goal was to return it to his mother before she noticed all the money that had been discreetly disappearing. He had to keep her faith in his innocence high. He left the bookshop to wander some more.  
  
He finally stopped in front of a tall, imposing church. He couldn't make out the particular sect of worship it housed, although the giant cross on the steeple assured him that they called themselves Christian. Charlie understood why people felt the need of a Divine Being. It just annoyed and amused him that they gave Him so many names and had so many different rules. Did they realized He was the same no matter Christ or Allah or Buddah, Catholic, Protestant, or any of the other endless faiths and deities found in the earth's long and bloody history?   
  
Obviously not.  
  
With this unorthodox and possibly blasphemous thoughts in mind Charlie climbed the steps of the church and bowed his head respectfully as he entered. It was a gargantuan room, with a typical cathedral ceiling and long, narrow stained glass windows. The pews were nearly empty, save a few kneeling, silent worshippers. Walking forward and painfully aware of the echo of his footfalls, Charlie turned and studied the choir loft, just above the entrance, and the giant pipe organ behind it. He looked at it wistfully, imagining how the room would fill with warm, round music if a decent musician were playing it. He himself was a decent musician, unbeknownst to most people. It wasn't hard when you had a perfect memory.  
  
He continued his journey down the aisle, wondering how many nervous brides had made the same journey with that beautiful organ playing the familiar strains of "Here Comes the Bride" echoing around her. He then wondered why he had marriage on his mind and decided not to worry about it. His mind worked in ways even he didn't understand.  
  
Charlie found what he had been looking for with forlorn hope. In a little alcove to the left of the alter was another organ, smaller but still usable. Charlie approached it eagerly, his hands aching to play. He sat down carefully and looked out at the six dedicated persons with heads bowed in prayer. They wouldn't mind, he decided. Music was a good background for communicating with the Almighty.  
  
Without any warning his hands crashed with the keys, and of their own accord started to play Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It was a beautiful piece, and one that fit with the religious sanctity of the cathedral. He could almost hear the choir singing along, "Joyful, joyful, we adore thee!" The worshipers looked up, startled. Their eyes went first to the choir loft, but then to Charlie. Charlie himself was totally oblivious and happy, his eyes and his mind entirely focused on the keys below him. They looked at each other uneasily, uncertain as to what to do. After a few moments they came to the conclusion that he must have been there for a reason and returned to their prayers.  
  
Charlie smiled, and after a few more pieces, finally ending with Fur Elise, he stood, bowed to the crucifix, and walked down the aisle again, past the confused parishioners who were forgetting their prayers in their curiosity, out of the door and finally skipping down the wide stone steps. He looked at his watch and sighed. He had wasted most of his allotted time. Slowly, he plodded in the direction of the bus station. He wondered, briefly what his mother would say if he were late and he tried to convince her he had been at church.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Saturday, August the twenty-ninth dawned bright and early...far too early in Grace's opinion. She hadn't opened Melinda's since the first week she had met Nate.   
  
She frowned as the thought entered her mind. It was odd that she should think of that week as the beginning of Nate as opposed to the beginning Philadelphia or the diner or any of the other, more important things that had begun here.   
  
She pushed Nate out of her mind as she walked briskly to Melinda's. There was no need to dwell on her room mate while she was at work.  
  
However Grace found this end harder and harder to achieve as the day went on. Everything in the diner reminded her of Nate. Even certain regular customers brought back fond and recent memories of side comments and secret, shared laughter. It was odd to remember laughing with such clarity. Nate had that effect on her.  
  
He arrived in the early afternoon right on time, pouting as she took off her apron and nametag. She grinned.  
  
"Now Nate, I'm just having one little afternoon to myself and Charlie, I think you can handle it," she said. She had meant to be severe. She had come off as playful. How very odd.  
  
"But GRACE," he whined, making his best puppy eyes at her. He was very accomplished at making the puppy eyes. "What will I do when Crazy Christa comes in?"  
  
Crazy Christa arrived every single day exactly one minute before closing. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a strawberry milkshake. She knew perfectly well that they didn't make strawberry milkshakes, but never complained when they gave her hot chocolate instead.  
  
Grace only laughed in response. "We both have tomorrow off," she said consolingly. "How about you, Charlie and I take a day out on the town? We can go to the park, see the sights...whatever. We'll just have a little family day out."  
  
"Fine," Nate pouted.   
  
"Goodbye, Nate," she said, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek. He blinked and stared without response as she left the diner. Had she just kissed him on the cheek...?  
  
We are just friends, he reminded himself, and tomorrow we're going to have a little family day out...he grinned. For just one single moment, Nate McCoy allowed himself to imagine himself as Charlie's father.  
  
"Hey, yo!" a customer snapped, "Where's my joe?"  
  
Reality was bound to catch up eventually, he reminded himself as he hurried to fetch the coffee.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Grace and Charlie returned from their afternoon in the Witching Corner tired but happy. Charlie had had the foresight to bring a large bag bearing the Muggle-friendly brand name of Barnes & Noble. Grace shrank their purchases to fit neatly into the bag using Charlie's wand. It felt good to be holding a wand again, if only for a moment. In America the state governments controlled the ages at which children could do magic. Pennsylvania had relatively strict standards, setting the age at twelve. This was inconvenient for Charlie's studies, but Grace couldn't help but be relieved. Charlie was too powerful for his own good sometimes.  
  
They returned home later than she had expected. Strangely she thought about their little apartment as home instead of just a place to live like she had in the past. She had looked forward to being home every single day since...well, for at least a month now.  
  
She was fumbling for her keys when the door was opened for her. She looked up in surprise, then smiled when she recognized Nate's attempt at a scowl. "You're late," he grumbled.   
  
"I know," she replied with a smile. "Charlie got caught up in the bookstore.  
  
"Yes, and now I would like to be excused to read," Charlie said, and then darted around Nate and into his room without waiting for a reply. Grace smiled after him before following Nate inside and dropping her purse in its customary place.   
  
"Work was boring without you," Nate complained.  
  
"I'm sure you'll live," she replied callously. She was distracted by something she hadn't been expecting. "What is that smell?"  
  
"Cheesy Chicken Bake, hopefully," Nate replied nervously. Grace's eyes widened.   
  
"YOU cooked?" she asked, "For me?"  
  
"Well...for us," he replied, flushing scarlet. "And Charlie, of course."  
  
"Nate, you HATE cooking!" she exclaimed.  
  
"It's not that big of a deal," he insisted, following her into the kitchen. Sure enough, the oven light was on and a cookbook was open on the counter.  
  
"Where are all the dishes?" she asked, quickly noticing the empty sink, "In the dishwasher?"  
  
"Well...no," he replied, "I figured I would just do them myself."  
  
Grace blinked in surprise. SHE did the dishes. She or Charlie cooked. Nate swept and vacuumed and any other random, necessary cleaning around the apartment. They did their own laundry at Ali's Laundromat across the street. Nate hated cooking.  
  
"I'm sure it won't be THAT bad," Nate said with a hesitant smile.  
  
"I didn't think it would be," Grace replied, "I was just surprised, is all."  
  
"Oh,"  
  
An awkward pause descended on the kitchen by habit Grace forced herself not to fidget. As they looked blankly at one another they listened to the living room clock tick away the seconds with an amazing increase in volume. The silence dragged on...five seconds, six seconds, seven-  
  
They both jumped when the oven timer blared. Grace's heartbeat sky-rocketed in a moment of panic, and then she laughed nervously, placing a hand over her racing heart. Nate's easy grin slipped back into place, and for the first time Grace found herself wondering if his grin was as much a mask as her smile.  
  
She bit back a peal of real laughter as Nate grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the chicken bake. He carefully placed it on the stove and shut the oven door.  
  
"I never imagined you as the casserole type," she said playfully.  
  
"It was the easiest recipe I could find, and we had all the stuff for it," he replied with a shrug.  
  
"No false heroics?" she asked in mock seriousness. "No deadly battles with the fire breathing broiler or tales of Lady Chedder, the fair damsel you rescued from the Dread Lord Grater?"  
  
"I did duel with the Loch Ness Dishwasher," he replied, laughing, "But I suppose it could have been worse." Grace just shook her head with a giggle, then turned to collect Charlie for dinner.  
  
Grace wasn't surprised to find her son reading. Hermione would be proud, she thought vaguely after clearing her throat to get Charlie's attention.  
  
"Hello, Mother," he said, not looking up.  
  
"Nate made dinner," she said in a commanding voice. Charlie sighed, casting a wistful look at the heavy volume. His face brightened with inspiration.  
  
"Mother, may I eat in my room tonight?" he asked. Grace blinked. She and Charlie had eaten dinner together at the kitchen table, in various kitchens across the United States, ever night for the last seven years.  
  
"Well..."  
  
"I won't make a mess," he promised eagerly, "I can't very well read anywhere else while Nate's around. Please?"  
  
"I suppose," she finally acquiesced.  
  
"Thank you!" he grinned, before sprinting out of his room to collect his meal. She watched him go bemusedly, wondering why something so little was bothering her so much.  
  
She passed Charlie on her way back to the kitchen. He nodded in the way of greeting, carefully balancing a blue plastic plate heaping with steamy casserole and a full glass of milk. She supposed it was just that Charlie was growing up. She should have known there would come a day when he wouldn't want to eat at the dinner table with her.  
  
Her plate was prepared and waiting for her on the table when she reentered the kitchen. She sat slowly and Nate took his customary place across from her. Grace was painfully aware of the empty seat on her right. Nate lifted his fork and watched her tentatively. She realized he was anxious to have her approval of his meal. Smiling, she took a bite.  
  
Frankly, she had been expecting the undertaste of scorching, but she was pleasantly surprised. She grinned and he let out a breath of relief. "So, you like it?" he asked.  
  
"It's wonderful," she raved, "A work of art, a culinary masterpiece!"  
  
"Now you're just teasing," he pouted. She laughed. She noticed somewhere in the back of her mind that she laughed a lot with Nate around.  
  
"It IS good, Nate...well done," she patted his hand and turned her attention to her dinner. She notice his face flush under her praise.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
That night Grace dreamt. She didn't often dream anymore. She had become an expert at blocking the memories that triggered her nightmares. That day her guard must have been down.  
  
She was sixteen again, young, scared, and stupid; full of stubborn nobility. Her Dark Mark blazed with hidden fire on her arm. She was bowing before Voldemort. She couldn't see his face from within the dark confines of his flowing, deeply hooded cloak.  
  
It was a common nightmare, a mere memory of one of her mission as an assassin to the Dark Lord. This particular murder was her only international affair and the only time during a mission that she had dared to defy him. He wouldn't explain why he was sending her to upstate New York, only gave explicit instructions that everyone in the house was to be killed.  
  
It was a typical Muggle neighborhood, full of young, conforming families in a young, conformed little square of suburbia. She couldn't understand why her master would be so adamant about this boring Muggle family. The street was darker and foggier in her dream than it had been in reality. Through the gloom she recognized the house and sneaked inside.  
  
Her memory led her to the staircase. It was miles long. She climbed for eternity before finally reaching the long hallway above. She slowly crept across the carpeted hall, gently pushing the door aside as she entered the master bedroom. The door's faint creak was thunderous in her mind, but the oblivious Muggle couple slept on.  
  
She was unmasked, having been assured that in this country a young witch in dark robes wandering the streets at night wouldn't be nearly as suspicious as the same witch in possession of a Deaht Eater's mask. She felt naked without it; completely exposed to the curious eyes.  
  
Both husband and wife died without waking. It was better that way, Grace had decided. She didn't pause in a few moments of contemplation as she had once done. She turned on her heel and marched out of the bedroom and back down the corridor. It might have been easier to simply Apperate outside to cast the Dark Mark, but Grace preferred to leave the way she had come in.   
  
She was nearly to the stairs now, not paying a lot of attention in her effort to escape the house. Through the foggy gloom of memory she distinctly heard a small gasp. She turned abruptly, her wand out and read.  
  
The boy was young, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was a skinny creature, in blue flannel pajama pants and a bare, smooth torso. His eyes were also blue, wide open, and filled with horror. She saw a certainty of death in those eyes, half hidden by the messy bangs turned silver by the moonlight from his room. Grace was acutely aware that she was unmasked and her face completely revealed. "Grace," the boy whispered, raising an accusing finger.  
  
"No," she replied in a raspy whisper, taking a step back. Her wand hand twitched.  
  
"Grace!" the child cried again, growing taller. His face twisted into the terrible monster of her guilt.  
  
"NO!" she screamed, her denial echoing through the long corridor of death.   
  
"Grace!" the monster-boy declared again. Still screaming through tears, Grace turned and fled to the right. She soon found her path blocked by an advancing army. The leaders were James Potter and Angel Malfoy. She could see her parents, the Potters, all her aunts and uncles, her teachers and Severus and Bill behind them. "Murderer..." they chanted in a childish, sing-song voice, "Murderer!" Their steps forced her back and their fingers were pointed at her.  
  
"NO!" she screeched, then turned and ran to the left, past the monster-boy who was still calling her name. She was sprinting, but halted abruptly when she found her path rudely blocked again. It was another army, this time composed of her victims and lead by the dark-haired skinny teenager from her first Bonfire, his blood-speckled glasses in place. Their taunting "Murderer!" chorus joined the matching song from her family behind. She turned again, but the two armies blacked her into the center of the hallway again. Looking up, tears streaming down her face, she saw the monster-boy again. "Grace! Grace!" he called steadily over the resounding "Murderer! Murderer!"  
  
She sank to her knees, her guilt and self-hatred consuming her as sobs racked her frame. She looked up in the vain hope of mercy. She watched in terror as the monster-boy's features twisted again. Her eyes widened as she recognized the new face...her very own beloved Charlie.  
  
"Mother," he whispered, his finger also pointed down at her.  
  
"NO!" she screamed, the agony of his accusation ringing through the corridor through her sobs.  
  
"Mother!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
Mother!"  
  
"Murderer! Murderer!"  
  
"Grace!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Mother!"  
  
"Grace!"  
  
"Mother!"  
  
"Grace!"  
  
"Murderer! Murderer!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"MOTHER!"  
  
Suddenly, the screaming stopped and the world turned to darkness. Then, just as suddenly, light blinded her as her eyes flew open, darting around her bedroom from a sudden sitting position. Nate was standing over her, his golden hair reflecting in the light giving him a halo around his concerned, gentle face. Charlie was kneeling on the bed. He reached out and touched his mother's shoulder. She jerked away, her eyes wide with horror. "No," she whispered.  
  
"Mother," Charlie pleaded.  
  
"Grace," Nate said gently.  
  
"Murderer, murderer!" Grace's cruel mind finished viciously.   
  
"NO!" she screamed as loud as she could, trying to drive the taunting voices from her mind. She pulled her knees to her chin and rolled into a fetal position, her head buried in the pillow. She cried then, cried as she hadn't cried in months. Her body was shaking from the effort of such heartfelt sobs of agony.   
  
"Grace!" Nate cried in alarm. He reached for her. She flinched, but was too preoccupied with the crying to resist any further than that. She fell like a rag doll into his embrace. He held her as close as he dared. She grabbed his shoulders and clutched as if for dear life and directed her sobs into his chest in lieu of a pillow. Nate looked over her head with wide, concerned eyes and made contact with the same worry in Charlie's deep brown orbs.  
  
"She has nightmares," he whispered, knowing his mother was too far gone to comprehend him. "She dreams of things that happened when she was young, when she lived in England. Horrible things. She...she won't let me touch her." He forced the last sentence out. It had always bothered him that his mother rejected any comfort he offered, and now she was in Nate's arms. Charlie wondered, for the first time, if he was in the dreams. It would, he suddenly realized, make a great deal of sense.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was three in the morning before Nate was finally convinced that Grace was sleeping peacefully. She had recovered after ten minutes of solid sobbing enough to command Charlie to go to bed in shaking tones. She had tried to do the same with him, but he refused to leave her alone when she was so obviously terrified. He thought that maybe beneath the wounded pride she was happy for his company.  
  
He couldn't deny it much longer. If she hadn't been crying hysterically, Nate would have quite enjoyed holding her so close for so long. It was to be expected, was it not, that after several months of living in the same house his feelings for Grace would change? She was, simply put, the best person he had ever met...beautiful and generous and kind. Apparently she had a darker history than he had thought. He also knew, in the back of his mind, that any feelings other than friendship he might have for her would not be returned. She was still in love with someone back home...his instincts told him that much. He wondered if it was Charlie's father...She had never mentioned the man, but he assumed he had played some important role in her life.  
  
He finally fell asleep with his mind full of worry and unanswered questions. The most pressing was his own feelings toward her...He loved her as a person, that was certain, but was it more? Did he want a deeper relationship just because it fit the picture of a happy family of three? He had often wondered how he would explain himself if the three of them went out for dinner...the mother, the son, and the mother's friend who lives with them yet has no romantic relationship with the mother. So perhaps he just wanted a picture of normality...he hoped that was all it was. He could handle that and get over it. A serious emotional attachment was more dangerous to the heart.  
  
His sleep was uneasy and broken, full of broken bits of memories of his parents before their murder. He remembered nothing of the night they were killed. Absolutely nothing. His memories were happy ones, full of laughter and watermelon and motherly embraces. It was waking up that made the memories so horrible.  
  
When Nate sat up at around sunrise the next morning, he thought at first nothing but his own mind had awakened him. However, his groggy mind was suddenly alert and waiting as he heard the door rattle...the peculiar sound that told him someone was unlocking the door. His mind reeled with the possibilities. He, Grace, Charlie and the landlord had the only copies of the key. It was the middle of the month, so the landlord was not an option...and he would never show up before around noon anyway. Nate's mind immediately reeled to a foster home in North Carolina that had been plundered by burglars when he was fifteen.   
  
Leaping to his feet, Nate stood in a tense position, waiting to see who was breaking into his home. The doorknob turned slowly, as if the opener were taking great pains not to make any noise. Slowly, the door swung open. The open doorway revealed a man Nate had never seen before. He was tall, even taller than Nate, with thick black hair and cold brown eyes. He was dressed casually yet professionally in suit pants and a blue dress shirt. He wore an expression of surprise. Nate was about to attack when the man spoke.  
  
"Oh!" the exclamation betrayed genuine surprise or very good acting. The accent was gentle, soothing...and foreign. Distinctly British and distantly familiar. "I'm so sorry, sir, I must have the wrong apartment."  
  
"You're damn right," Nate snapped without thinking. His mind was with Grace, still sound asleep in her room.  
  
"I apologize, sir," the man replied sincerely, "I'm looking for the home of Grace...Peters. Could you tell me where to find her?" Nate narrowed his eyes. He recognized the accent now. It was much thicker than Grace's, who had been living in America for the last several years, yet it was undoubtedly the same.  
  
"What do you want with Grace?" he snarled, automatically taking a more defensive position and blocking the entrance to the hallway that lead to Grace and Charlie's rooms.  
  
"You know here, then?" the man inquired politely. Nate's keen eyes spotted the hand moving slowly, unobtrusively yet decidedly for his pocket. He has a gun, Nate thought immediately. His sole thought was now on getting Grace and Charlie out of the building. There was a fire escape outside of Grace's room. He decided it was time to sound the alarm.  
  
"GRACE!" he cried at the top of his lungs, not moving. His sudden shout brought the man to a complete stop. Encourage, Nate continued, "Grace, get the hell out of here, now!"  
  
"You don't know what you're doing," the man protested in a deadly soft voice, his brown eyes flashing.  
  
"I know I want you to get the hell out of here," Nate snapped in return.   
  
"Listen, sir-"  
  
"Get down, Nate!" Grace's voice interrupted from the hall. Nate spun around in shock. Grace came running out, her bathrobe tied efficiently around her waist and a gun in her hand. Nate stepped back in surprise more than anything, watching as she swung the weapon in the stranger's direction as soon as he came into sight. The man threw his hands in the air. Nate stared at the effrontery of the man...he was grinning.  
  
"No, no, no, Grace," he said, shaking his hand and crossing the room swiftly. "You're holding it all wrong."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry I can't kill you," she said sarcastically, however she didn't object as he swept out of her line of fire and wrapped his arms around her. Nate's eyes flared with jealousy.  
  
"Like this," he instructed, changing her stance and his arms completely encircled her. "Now, aim at the door and...bam."  
  
"How do you know so much about M...normal weapons?" she asked, lowering the gun and turning to the newcomer. He shrugged enigmatically in response. She growled in frustration, "Tom, what are you doing here?"  
  
Tom, Nate thought, so the stranger has a name. He and Grace seem very familiar...  
  
"It's Charlie's birthday next week, in case you forgot," he replied easily.  
  
"I certainly did not," she replied with her nose in the air.   
  
"Grace darling, I don't mean to pry," he said, his maliciously sparkling chocolate eyes turning to Nate, who narrowed his own blue eyes in response, ready for a fight, "But who is this fascinating gentleman? He almost throttled my innocent self."  
  
"Like you're innocent," she snorted. "This is Nate McCoy. Nate, this is Tom Flint."  
  
"Pleasure," Tom said, holding out a hand. Nate didn't accept it.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he snapped instead. Tom Flint opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another, younger voice.  
  
"Sensei!" the voice cried. Nate turned to see Charlie, still in his pajamas but other than that appearing completely ready for the day. The boy ran down the hall, grinning. He ran straight into Tom Flint's arms. Tom lifted him up, and it finally hit Nate like a ton of bricks. Their chocolate brown eyes and wide grins were identical.   
  
Tom Flint was Charlie Peters's father.  
  
"How about some coffee?" Grace asked, grinning, "You take it black, don't you Tom?"  
  
"You know me so well, Grace," he replied, still carrying Charlie. Nate watched with a growing, festering jealousy in his heart. The scene was so domestic....so very familiar and familial. The three just FIT together so well, they made such a perfect little family...right down to morning coffee.  
  
Tom followed Grace into the kitchen. They seemed to have forgotten Nate entirely. Growling under his breath, he turned and marched down the hall to the bathroom to prepare for what was quickly becoming a miserable day.  
  
He slammed the bathroom door shut and stared at his reflection in the mirror. There he was, plain little Nathaniel McCoy. His face was so much younger than Tom Flint's...and he had dirty blonde hair that just looked silly next to the slick black locks of Tom Flint. He realized, more vividly than ever now, that Charlie's eyes were a deep, unending brown. Tom Flint's eyes were just the same. Grace Peters's eyes were golden and soft. His were blue...just plain blue.  
  
His reverie was interrupted. The walls of the apartment were thin, and he could hear the laughter from the kitchen. Charlie's giggles and Grace's musical chuckles sounded just as they always had, but the warm baritone rumbles made Nate's blood boil. He remembered that less than twenty-four hours he had imagined himself being the missing father figure of his little family.  
  
It wasn't his little family anymore. 


	4. Blast from the Past

A/N: So no amount of excuses can possible explain why I haven't posted in...several months. Honestly, for about three months I didn't write any fanfic at all, only original stuff. Now I think I'm going to finish this story (and, obviously, the trilogy it completes) and probably retire from ff, sadly. I'm immersed in several original stories.  
  
In ANY case, I will not be abandoning TB, so I can promise that before I go to college in August this will be completed. This chapter was originally going to cover much more time-going all the way to Christmas-but as you'll soon see, the first day got a little out of control and took on a mind of its own...  
  
I love you all! Happy reading and thanks for sticking with me!!!  
  
Chapter Three:  
Blast from the Past  
  
I'm tuggin' at my hair I'm pullin' at my clothes I'm tryin' to keep my cool I know it shows I'm starin' at my feet My cheeks are turnin' red I'm searchin' the words inside my head I'm feelin' nervous Tryin' to be so perfect 'Cause I know you're worth it  
  
Avril Lavigne's "Things I'll Never Say"  
  
After a few moments Nate managed to pull himself together and repress his jealousy. He should have expected this, after all. Charlie existed, therefore he must have a father. His steps leading him down the hall toward the kitchen where the happy family was conversing were slow and steady. He wasn't halfway down the hall when Charlie appeared from around the corner, running past Nate and into his bedroom. Nate couldn't repress a half smile-he'd never seen the boy so excited.  
  
He could see into the kitchen as he entered the living room, he could see the refrigerator and the counter top through the doorway. He knew Grace and that Tom Flint character were seated at the dinner table just around the corner. He couldn't see them and they couldn't see him-but he could hear them just fine.  
  
Eavesdropping was rude, but useful at times. Nate had never intended to eavesdrop, but when he heard his name he couldn't help sneaking forward and listening intently. It was Grace speaking, and it appeared she was answering a question.  
  
"His name is Nate, and he's a good kid, Tom. He works with me at the diner Charlie told you about and he's really patient with Charlie...Lord knows that's not easy."  
  
"No," Tom chuckles, "But seriously, Grace. He's LIVING with you? Are you sure that's entirely safe?"  
  
"He's completely innocent. He doesn't know anything about my history," she replied, rather defensively.  
  
"Well, that's not necessarily a good thing," Tom replied.  
  
"Why not? If he knows nothing, how can he be a danger?"  
  
"I'm not implying that he's dangerous," he replied calmly, "Grace, do you really think its fair to him? I mean, you're living together and..." his voice trailed off.  
  
"Are you implying that we have a...a...romantic relationship of some kind?" Grace sounded scandalized. "Tom! He's just a kid!"  
  
"So are you," he reminded her. "You're only twenty-four, Grace. He can't be any more than two years younger. You're beautiful, you're fun, you're generous...and you're sleeping a few feet away. He's bound to react eventually."  
  
"I'm also secretive, sarcastic, and cautious, besides being a mother," Grace snapped. "Nate isn't stupid enough to 'react' at all. I don't intend on being involved in any relationship with anyone ever."  
  
"I don't see why," Tom replied. "Is this about James?"  
  
"James?!" Grace echoed incredulously. "Merlin, Tom, that was a childhood crush. I haven't seen him in...in...almost a decade. What in the blazes makes you think this has anything to do with James Potter? I just don't...don't...don't love. I can't love, I don't know how. Nate deserves better in any case."  
  
"I don't understand you sometimes," Tom replied, sighing deeply, "You say he's a good kid, he treats Charlie well, you obviously respect him if you're letting him sleep here..."  
  
"Just stop, Tom, it's really none of your damn business," she snapped.  
  
"I'm sorry," he replied, "I just wanted--"  
  
"Don't apologize," she snapped. There was a moment of tense silence in which Nate realized that their relationship, whatever it was, was more strained than he had thought.  
  
"I just want you to be happy, and the best for Charlie," Tom finally said quietly.  
  
"I know," she replied.  
  
"But I do think you should tell him...at least some part of your past, Grace," he continued firmly. Nate heartily agreed; he was thoroughly curious by then.  
  
"I will...eventually," she replied.  
  
"Interesting conversation, isn't it?" a small voice whispered from somewhere around Nate's waist. He jumped and looked down to see Charlie, who was eavesdropping just as shamelessly.  
  
"Yes," Nate replied, for lack of something better.  
  
"Hello Mother, hello Sensei," Charlie said in a clear voice, walking calmly into the kitchen as if he hadn't been listening. Nate couldn't help but be grateful, because following Charlie made him look less suspicious. He wondered why in the world Charlie called his father "sensei". Was it a British thing? He had always known Grace grew up in Britain, but they talked about it so little and Charlie had always seemed so American that it had never occurred to Nate that his father must be British as well.  
  
"Hey chap, ready to go?" Tom asked his son. Nate couldn't help it-he loved hearing a real, honest-to-God Brit say the word "chap". It was just so very...British.  
  
"Yes," Charlie replied, nodding. He turned solemnly to Grace, "I hope you have a fun time today, Mother. You aren't disappointed that I'm leaving, are you?"  
  
"Well, a little," Grace replied with the smile she reserved only for her son, "But I'm glad you're going with your father. Just be home on time!"  
  
"No worries, Gracie," Tom replied. She winced at the sound of the nickname. Nate felt an unholy surge of triumph. "We'll be back by ten. See you then."  
  
"Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Nate," Charlie said with a grin as he followed Tom out of the apartment. The boy looked more his age than Nate had ever seen him. He heard Grace sigh deeply. There was a moment of awkward silence.  
  
"I didn't realize..." Nate began, not really knowing how he intended to finish the sentence.  
  
"I should have told you about Tom," she said quietly, not looking over at him. Nate bit his lip, but continued doggedly on.  
  
"Is there anything else you should have told me about?" he asked gently. He saw the corners of her mouth turn up, but somehow he didn't think she was really smiling.  
  
"Exactly how much of our conversation did you overhear?" she asked. Nate felt his eyes widen and his cheeks flush.  
  
"Grace, I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear-"  
  
"You're a horrible liar," Grace interrupted flatly, "But I don't blame you. I'd be damned curious too, in your position. Sit down and I'll tell you a bit about myself."  
  
"Alright," he agreed meekly. He didn't like this businesslike tone at all. She stalled for a few moments, busying herself with something at the counter. When she sat down, she handed him a teacup and placed her own in front of her. And surprisingly, the cups actually contained tea. Real tea...Nate had only had hot tea a few times in his life. It was amazing, how British she suddenly became.  
  
"I was born twenty-four years ago in England. My parents were wealthy; they worked in the government. I was their only child. However, I had several cousins and my godparents' children to play with all my life, so I never really felt lonely. When I was eleven I was sent to a boarding school in Scotland with my two best friends-my cousin Angel and my godfather's son James."  
  
"Uh-huh," Nate replied, more to show he was listening than anything else. He didn't understand what boarding school had to do with anything.  
  
"There were a lot of intra-school rivalries, between old families and whatnot...it's rather complicated," Grace continued, choosing her words carefully. "Anyway, there was one boy a year older than us. We hated him and he hated us for a long time. His name was Tom Flint."  
  
"Tom as in Charlie's father?" Nate asked dubiously.  
  
"Right," she replied, looking rather uncomfortable. "Now, in Scotland...well actually, throughout Britain there is...there is a particular gang...a lot of hoodlums, you understand, kids who are out of control. Well, Tom was in that gang. It was the gang my parents kept trying to stomp out at work.  
  
"I don't know how it got started really. I guess it was because it was all so very illegal and exciting and I had been a law enforcer's daughter all my life. It was stupid, really, but I was sixteen and invincible and I wanted a change of pace. So I started talking to kids in the gang, started not hanging around my old friends..."  
  
"And that's when you got involved with Tom?" Nate supplied helpfully.  
  
Grace hesitated for a moment. That would be such an easy explanation, so simple, she could just say she and Tom had a fling and that was that. The thought made her sick. She'd have to invent a less convincing but nearer-to-the-truth lie.  
  
"Actually, no. Tom was carrying on a relationship with my cousin, Angel," she explained. That was the solid truth, at any rate. "He was still in touch with the gang, but not a major player any more. Of course, we all went out and partied and drank. One night he came back to school more drunk than I had ever seen anyone. I look almost exactly like my cousin and he...well..."  
  
"Oh," Nate replied as flushed cheeks and averted eyes, not words, conveyed her meaning, "Did you...er...want him to...er...?"  
  
"No," she whispered.  
  
"Oh,"  
  
There was a long silence. Grace's eyelids were moving rapidly. Nate hadn't been so confused or angry since his parents died.  
  
"He felt horrible afterward," she continued in a whisper. "He's not a bad person, Nate, really. We both just put it behind us and I was trying to get out of the gang but by that time I was too far in...Tom kept me out of serious trouble after that. But then, two months later, I took the test and realized I was pregnant."  
  
"That must have been...a terrible experience," Nate said softly, gently, trying to understand.  
  
"I've never been so scared," she continued, almost as if she hadn't been interrupted. "My parents would have flipped..."  
  
"What do you mean, would have?" Nate interrupted suddenly, "Didn't you have to tell them eventually?"  
  
His response was the last thing he had been expecting. She laughed. It was not her usual laugh. It was cold, even for Grace.  
  
"No," she replied bitterly. "I didn't tell anyone. It didn't matter, because only a few weeks later my other best friend, James, found out I was in the gang and promptly turned me into our parents. My dad flipped. I ran...fled the country. Charlie was actually born in France. We probably both would have died in the slums of Paris if Tom hadn't tracked us down. He had graduated-he was a year ahead, you remember-and he was independently wealthy. He sent us here, to America, and we've kind of drifted around the country. Without him I'd certainly be either in a charity shelter in Paris or a homeless shelter in New York. He adores Charlie."  
  
"I...I had no idea," Nate stammered.  
  
"I didn't expect you to," she replied. "He's married to my cousin Angel now. They're completely happy. My whole family thinks I'm dead. He's asked me a couple of times to go back, present Charlie-they don't know he exists, you know-and make amends. I won't though. I prefer life here."  
  
"In practical poverty?" Nate asked gently. She shrugged.  
  
"It's my life now," she explained.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, placing his hand over her limp, pale hand lying lifeless on the table. "I didn't know I was stirring such painful memories."  
  
"It's alright," she replied, seeming to brighten suddenly. But Nate knew her better than that. She was putting all those dark thoughts away, locking them in the back of her mind. It was an exceedingly dangerous thing to do, to bottle one's emotions like that, but who was Nate to tell Grace how to run her own mind? "So, with Charlie gone, what shall we do with the rest of our day?"  
  
"Oh yeah, we don't have to work!" Nate declared. It was one of the very, very few days both were given free. They were planning to take Charlie around and...well, make it up as they went along. However, apparently Charlie was now out of the agenda. The idea was strange to Nate.  
  
"My, aren't we the bright bulb today?" Grace remarked sarcastically. She stood and took his cup. It was empty. He couldn't remember drinking the tea.  
  
"I'm always like this," he pointed out.  
  
"Well, what do you want to do?" she asked, torn between exasperation and amusement.  
  
"I don't know, what do you want to do?" he asked childishly in return.  
  
"You've been living here longer than I have," Grace pointed out. "What is there to do in Philadelphia?"  
  
"I've only been here a few months longer," Nate replied reasonably, "I mean, there's all the history of us Americans beating you redcoats a few years back," Grace rolled her eyes. He grinned and continued, "Okay, no then. Well there are a few museums and a zoo and-"  
  
"You know," she said vaguely, "I've never been to a zoo."  
  
"Are you serious?!" Nate exclaimed.  
  
"Sadly yes," she replied in exaggerated lament.  
  
"Well, that settles that," Nate said, jumping to his feet, "To the zoo it is!"  
  
Grace didn't have any time to argue even if she had wanted to. He pulled her to her feet and half-dragged her out the door. She barely had time to grab her purse. The spontaneous nature of it all felt fantastic. Grace hadn't done anything spontaneous for fun in ages.  
  
The bus stop wasn't far from the apartment. Although Grace had traveled by bus many times in America (mostly on the run from Damien and his cronies) every time she saw one she was still sharply reminded of the Knight Bus. If she hesitated even for a moment before boarding the bus, Nate didn't notice. As they found the only empty seat and made themselves comfortable Grace made a firm vow to live for the moment if only for that day. Charlie was perfectly safe with Tom (or at least as close to being perfectly safe as was possible with Charlie) and she didn't have to work and...and...  
  
She could spend the whole day totally alone with Nate McCoy.  
  
She didn't realize how happy she was about that particular detail until that moment on the crowded bus. She glanced over at Nate, who grinned back at her in return. Her spirits lifted. For just this day, she vowed again, I'm going to live like every other young, carefree Muggle woman in Philadelphia.  
  
As they climbed out of the bus and started walking toward the entrance of the zoo Grace reached into her purse and started rummaging for her wallet. She stopped when she felt a calloused hand on her arm.  
  
"What?" she asked, looking up. Had his hands always been that strong?  
  
"I'm paying," he replied simply. She stared at him.  
  
"What?" she said again, confused, "Nate, there's no need to-"  
  
"No, Grace, I insist," he said, smiling, "It's your day to relax."  
  
She opened her mouth to argue, and then remember her vow. (Had he been reading her mind?) What young, carefree Muggle woman in her right mind could refuse?  
  
Grace never vowed to be in her right mind, but she decided not to refuse anyway.  
  
"Alright then," she said, smiling, "If you're sure."  
  
"Certainly I'm sure," he replied. Grace nearly lost her resolve when they actually reached the ticket counter and she read the exorbitant fees for entrance to the zoo, but Nate had paid and lead her through the turnstile before she had time to politely phrase an objection. He handed her a colorful brochure that appeared to be a guide to the zoo.  
  
"They have a white tiger this month!" Nate exclaimed, scanning the guide. "That's incredible!"  
  
"I've never seen a regular tiger," Grace confessed, biting back a grin at Nate's boyish delight.  
  
"Well then, we'll start over here and work our way toward the tiger house," he explained, gesturing to the map as he planned their course.  
  
"And afterward we can eat something in the Tiger Café," Grace said, leaning to look at Nate's map instead of opening her own. Her head came to rest on his shoulder for a fraction of a second before he folded the brochure and slipped it into his pocket.  
  
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Time was rollicking faster than Grace could ever remember. The morning was spent lazily touring the park, and then they spent most of the afternoon in the Tiger House after a brief lunch. Nate seemed to be going out of his way to make her laugh whenever he could. Grace's cheeks hurt from smiling. She never smiled this much.  
  
They left the zoo at sunset. After debating good-naturedly for a few minutes they walked to a restaurant four blocks away. The sky was ablaze with violent reds, oranges, and pinks. Somehow Nate's arm slipped around Grace's waist. She didn't mind.  
  
It was more upscale than Melinda's, a completely feasible accomplishment, so Grace insisted that they split the bill. She had chicken cordon bleu and he had shrimp. They split a mountain of ice cream, brownie, and hot fudge for dessert. It was the best meal Grace had had in years. It was the first time she had eaten out in ages, the second time she had had dinner without Charlie. For some reason she wasn't thinking about any of these things.  
  
By the time dinner was finished the sun had set completely. The sky was littered with stars so bright they were visible even through the glaring city lights. Grace and Nate walked slowly to the bus station. The bus pulled up to the corner just as they reached it. With a start, Grace realized she had spent a whole day not worrying. It was a strange thought.  
  
The bus was empty enough that they didn't have to sit in the same seat. They did anyway. Grace's head fell on Nate's shoulder and she nearly fell asleep. She felt warm and oddly safe...a blissful feeling.  
  
She groaned when the bus stopped and Nate stood, forcing her to do the same. She had been so very comfortable. Nate seemed to find this very amusing, teasing her about her now quite messy hair. She didn't mind.  
  
The apartment was completely empty when they entered it. Apparently Tom hadn't yet returned with Charlie. It was strange, really, to walk in that dark, deserted room with Nate and know Charlie wasn't cooking in the kitchen or reading in his room. She shivered.  
  
"You cold?" Nate asked quietly as he flipped the light switch. "We have some instant hot chocolate in the kitchen. I can make some."  
  
"I don't doubt it," Grace replied, smiling, "Even you can't burn hot chocolate."  
  
"Ha ha," he replied sarcastically, "You underestimate my crazy burning skills," he continued, leading the way into the kitchen. Grace fell into one of the three wooden chairs as Nate rifled through the cupboards until he found the hot chocolate. In moments there were two mugs in the microwave.  
  
"I had fun today," Grace commented softly. Nate turned and leaned against the counter, watching her with a half-smile.  
  
"Good," he replied seriously, "You don't have enough fun, Grace."  
  
"What makes you say that?" she asked curiously. He shrugged.  
  
"You're a young, single mother and you take that job very seriously. Of course, Charlie's a pretty serious kid. Look, that's not a bad thing, but sometimes I worry that you never let yourself loosen up," he said.  
  
"Am I that uptight?" she demanded, only half joking.  
  
"Well...yeah," Nate looked a bit uncomfortable, but he refused to back down. "Fun is good, Grace. I mean, I know now that you've had a hell of a past, you and Charlie both, but I think that maybe...maybe it's time to let go of all that. I mean; what's the point of turning back now?"  
  
"Yeah..." Grace muttered, almost to herself. "Yeah, you're right. How do you understand me, Nate?"  
  
Nate was saved from answering the abrupt question by the loud, obnoxious beeping from the microwave. Grace stood as Nate opened the plastic door to retrieve the mugs. Apparently their conversation had affected him more than she realized. He was too rough with the mug and burning hot chocolate splashed onto his hand. He swore and quickly but carefully put the mug on the table.  
  
"Are you alright?" Grace demanded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, scowling mildly at his hand. "I can't believe I just did that."  
  
"Let me see," she said, taking his hand and studying it intently. It was red, but nothing worse. What did she expect? It was only hot chocolate after all.  
  
"Well doc, will you need to amputate?" Nate asked quietly, the laughter back in his voice. She looked up, realizing how very close they were.  
  
"I don't think so," she whispered. Her stomach was fluttering and her hands were clammy. She felt her breathing quicken as his arms encircled her waist. Her mind went completely blank as his lips met hers.  
  
His kiss was understandably hesitant. Grace's first instinct was to shove him away, but for reasons even she did not comprehend she returned the kiss, wrapping her small arms around his shoulders and closing her eyes. Beneath her eyelids was a world of vibrant color. Nate's burned hand and his hot chocolate were forgotten.  
  
She didn't think of Tom. She didn't think of James. She didn't think of Charlie. She didn't think of anything. She just kissed Nathaniel McCoy as if there were no tomorrow, as if nothing or no one in the world mattered outside of that moment. Those few precious minutes changed Grace's life forever...she had never felt such unreserved affection from anyone. She knew that he was different from the romances she'd imagined as a child-she could feel it in his crushing embrace and the pressure of his kiss.  
  
To her own surprise Grace was disappointed when Nate finally pulled away. He took a long shuddering breath. "Grace," he said, his voice deeper than usual.  
  
"Nate," she whispered in return, her voice, by contrast, almost an octave higher than her normal pitch. He reached for her again.  
  
The door opened. Surprised, Grace and Nate leapt apart like guilty teenagers. Their eyes didn't meet as Charlie's voice floated into the kitchen from the living room. "Mother? Nate? Are you home?"  
  
"Yes, Charlie," Grace replied, chancing a heartbeat's glance at Nate before hurrying to greet her son. Nate followed more slowly. Grace was chattering light-heartedly with Charlie about his day. Tom was lingering awkwardly in the doorway, watching the scene with a distant smile that, for some reason, put him just one notch higher in Nate's estimation.  
  
"Central Park, Mother! It was beautiful! I don't see why we never went there when we lived in New Jersey, it wasn't far away."  
  
"You went all the way to New York to see a park?" Grace demanded teasingly. "There are plenty in Philadelphia."  
  
"It's not the same," Charlie replied seriously, "I know the park is dangerous at night, but in the daylight it is quite aesthetically pleasing. You would have enjoyed it."  
  
"I had best return to England before Ginny realizes I've been gone longer than I should be," Charlie's father interrupted hesitantly.  
  
"Your mother-in-law for your boss, what a burden you bear," Grace remarked sardonically. Nate's eyebrows rose at this comment. Tom caught the other man's look and shrugged sheepishly.  
  
"It isn't easy," he admitted with only a hint of sarcastic martyrdom. "Which is why I must take my leave. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McCoy. Good evening Grace. Good-bye, Charlie. I hope you had fun."  
  
"I assure you the outing was most satisfactory," Charlie replied, "Until Christmas then, Sensei."  
  
Without further conversation Tom turned suddenly, shutting the door gently behind him. Charlie yawned.  
  
"Pardon my rudeness," he said, "But I am quite exhausted. I hope you both enjoyed your day. Goodnight Mother, goodnight Nate."  
  
"Goodnight," the adults chorused together as Charlie walked briskly to his room and shut the door with a decisive snap. Grace's eyes shifted to meet Nate's.  
  
"Perhaps I should go to bed too," she said softly. Nate nodded, moving to make the hallway accessible.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Grace," he said uncertainly.  
  
"Goodnight," she murmured, slipping past him and into her bedroom. Nate looked after her for a moment, before turning and preparing for another night on the sofa.  
  
The next few days were unusually tense. Every word was carefully planned, every movement fraught with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Charlie pretended to continue with his everyday affairs as if unaffected by the atmosphere. Neither adult was foolish enough for fall for his guise. This only contributed to the anxiety plaguing them both.  
  
"A grilled cheese sandwich and a strawberry milkshake, please," Crazy Christa said pleasantly, slipping into her usual place at 8:59 as Nate turned the cardboard sign on the door from open to close. Grace smiled, nodded, and returned to the kitchen to whip up some hot chocolate. The grilled cheese was waiting. Honestly, that woman is just too strange, Grace thought tolerantly as she carried the familiar meal to her waiting customer.  
  
Christa looked up at Grace and winked as the meal was presented with an exaggerated flourish. "Thank ye, lassie," she said in a sudden Scottish accent. Grace repressed a shudder. The accent was unnervingly accurate.  
  
"She's a weirdo," Nate commented quietly through a crooked smile as he and Grace began cleaning the counters and tables. Jim grunted in their direction before limping through the doorway. Grace sighed and wondered if the old cook had been so grumpy before he lost his ability to talk.  
  
"There are stranger people in the world," Grace replied, her eyes still following Jim. Nate followed her glance and chuckled. Crazy Christa finished her sandwich and left the precise price plus a dollar tip on the table without waiting for a bill. She hobbled out as Nate collected her dishes. They were the last to be washed.  
  
"Everyone's a bit strange in their own way, I guess," Nate said lightly, continuing the conversation. Grace shrugged.  
  
"Are we done?" she asked, shivering slightly, "It's not that long of a walk, but it's dark and cold. I want to get moving."  
  
"It's always dark and cold," Nate reminded her with pardonable sarcasm. "If you're so anxious, go on home. I can finish up here."  
  
"But-" Grace began to protest before she had a reason to disagree. Nate and Grace always walked home side-by-side, even if they had been snipping at each other at work and they walked in silence, they walked together.  
  
"But what?" Nate demanded, throwing his rag on the counter and turning to Grace.  
  
"I want to walk with you," she said softly, realizing how very silly she sounded. He sighed.  
  
"I can't do this forever, Grace," he said solemnly, his normally soft face practically chiseled in stone. "I heard what you told Tom about me not being stupid enough to react. So call me stupid, but this is ridiculous. We can't go on pretending nothing ever happened."  
  
"I know," Grace's head drooped. She felt very young. "I'm just not...quite...ready, I suppose."  
  
"Ready for what?" Nate asked.  
  
"I don't know!" she snapped, anger replacing her guilt. "Stop asking me all these questions!"  
  
"Stop avoiding the answers!" he commanded with equal fire. They stood glaring at each other in silence for a few moments.  
  
Nate's eyes dropped first, his cheeks flushed with bright color. When he spoke his voice was strangled, as if he were forcing every syllable. "I'm sorry, Grace. But I have to know what it is you want. I need to know if...if there's even a chance that some day..." His eyes slowly traveled back to find her face. To his surprise, she had turned. He studied her hunched shoulders, her bowed head and the fiery hair that tumbled from it.  
  
His few steps to reach her were agonizingly slowly. His gentle, calloused hands fell softly on her shoulders. She took a shuddering breath before turning to face him. Two individual shining streaks marred her normally closed countenance. Her eyes glittered brilliantly with unshed tears.  
  
"Grace," Nate murmured, his guilty eyes searching her face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't-"  
  
"It's not your fault," Grace whispered, her voice surprisingly steady.  
  
"But it is, I had to open my big mouth-"  
  
"Stop it, Nate, just stop it," she interrupted fiercely. "Stop blaming yourself for everything. I have faults, plenty of them, and you've just pointed out the worst. I have no idea what it is I want. Safety for Charlie, surely, but I don't want anything for myself. You're a great guy Nate, really you are, and..."  
  
"And what?" Nate asked. He was trying very had not to pry.  
  
"And...and maybe if...I mean..." she was more flustered than he had every seen her. It was more than a bit disconcerting. Her eyes sought his. The golden irises were fairly glowing. "Oh hell," she finally muttered. Without warning she threw her arms around his neck and brought her lips crashing into his.  
  
Crazy Christa was sitting across the street, veiled in the darkness. She had to wait longer than usual, but eventually both young people left the diner, locking it behind them. As they turned and walked home, she noticed his hand enclosed hers. She smiled. Nothing like a pair of young lovers to make things more exiting...  
  
She turned into an alley and disappeared. A report to the boss was in order.  
  
"Happy birthday dear Charlie, happy birthday to you!" Nate and Grace crooned. Charlie laughed. Neither was blessed in the musical field, or, for that matter, in the culinary field. The cake appeared edible, but the frosting was decidedly lopsided. Eight candles shone brightly. Pastel wax slowly melted onto the cake.  
  
"Make a wish," Nate instructed. It was a decidedly naïve command, which Charlie duly ignored. Wishes were for children. However, he did blow out every candle in one breath.  
  
"What did you wish, Charlie?" his mother asked, winking. She knew very well that he would never degrade himself in such a fashion.  
  
"He can't tell, Grace!" Nate cried in mock alarm. "If he says it out loud it won't come true."  
  
"Better keep it a secret then," Grace winked at her son. Charlie grinned. He hadn't had such fun in ages.  
  
"Of course," he said, reaching for the large piece of marble cake Grace had cut for him. The cake was too large for only the three of them, meaning cake for a week. This was not a problem for anyone; sweets were a rare treat in Grace's apartment.  
  
"Eight years old!" Nate cried jubilantly after taking an insanely huge bite of cake. "How does it feel to be so ancient?"  
  
"I'm the ancient one," Grace argued, smiling. "Goodness, I'll be needing a wheel chair soon." Charlie couldn't help but smile at the look on his mother's face. She was so happy with Nate...it was etched in every detail of her face.  
  
"Don't be silly, Mother, you're still quite young and pretty," Charlie commented seriously.  
  
"I believe the boy has a point!" Nate cried with exaggerated enthusiasm. Grace rolled her eyes.  
  
"You boys are too much for an old woman like me," she teased.  
  
"If you don't stop I'll find an old hag mask and make you wear it for Halloween," Nate threatened rudely. Grace laughed.  
  
"I have a perfectly fine witch's costume, thank you," she informed him, "Charlie and I never fail the trick-or-treaters."  
  
"What are you going as for trick-or-treat?" Nate asked Charlie.  
  
"I don't go trick-or-treating," Charlie said haughtily. "I remain at home and distribute candy with Mother.  
  
"No trick-or-treating?" Nate cried, as if this were a catastrophe of the worst kind. "Grace, what have you done to this poor kid? Hasn't he ever gone?"  
  
"No," Charlie informed him with a certain degree of wounded vanity.  
  
"That ends this year," Nate declared, waving his plastic fork for emphasis. Grace couldn't help it, she giggled. "Do you think this is funny?" he demanded, continuing with his mock outrage.  
  
"Of course," she replied. The pathetic attempt at a scowl prevented her from teasing him any worse. "If you really feel that strongly about it, you and Charlie can go trick-or-treating for a little while," she said lightly.  
  
"What about you?" Charlie asked, slightly dreading the answer.  
  
"Someone has to hand out the treats," she reminded him. "You two will be perfectly fine."  
  
"What do you say, Charlie?" Nate asked. The newly eight-year-old boy could clearly see the anxiety in his eyes. "It will be lots of fun."  
  
"I suppose," Charlie relented. He was in a wonder that his mother's trust of Nate extended this far. "I do love candy," he commented, almost to himself. Nate grinned.  
  
"Then Halloween is just the night for you," he said reassuringly  
  
"You really love Halloween, don't you?" Charlie asked.  
  
"It was my favorite night of the year when I was your age...well, Christmas first, and then my birthday, but THEN Halloween."  
  
"You know who else loves Halloween..." Charlie murmured, almost to himself. His eyes locked with his mothers. Grace felt her heart skip a beat.  
  
"Angel," she replied quietly.  
  
"Happy Halloween!" Angel cried, wrapping her arms around James.  
  
"Same to you Ang," James said breathlessly. "Ang...ANG! I can't breathe!"  
  
"Give him some oxygen," Tom said, coming to James's rescue. "Nice costume, James," he commented, his eyes glittering with laughter.  
  
"It's downright satirical," Angel contradicted, trying to sound stern and not betray her amusement. "Did you dye your hair black?"  
  
"Of course!" James grinned, "It's part of the ensemble. It's you two who are satirical. Whose idea was this?"  
  
Angel and Tom exchanged grins. Angel's dress was a gorgeous concoction of pure white silk and lace. Wings made of real white feathers emerged from her dainty shoulders, and a golden halo encircled her bright red hair. Tom played her counterpart, complete with long blood-red robes, horns, and a pitchfork. The reflection of their past and the personalities was, to a friend as close as James, hilarious.  
  
"It was quite brilliant, if I do say so myself," Angel said, glowing with pride. She had undoubtedly made both costumes herself.  
  
"This isn't any more ironic than your costume," Tom pointed out.  
  
"You can't tell me I'm the only one who showed up here as Harry Potter," he said reasonably. Angel laughed.  
  
"No, but you are the most believable. Your mother is going to have a fit of hysteria when she sees you dressed up as your father."  
  
"I'm more curious about what Dad will say," James admitted sheepishly.  
  
The conversation ended as more guests arrived. James wandered into the ballroom where the other guests were convening in small gossiping groups. Angel and Tom threw the largest Halloween party in England, inviting most of wizarding society. It was a privilege they inherited from Ginny and Draco. Ginny had been only too glad to let her daughter handle the enormous stress of the party. Draco seemed a bit nostalgic, but a few glasses of champagne always cured that malady.  
  
James was fashionably late. The party was already in full swing. His costume provoked amused comments, particularly from his colleagues. They immediately caught the sarcasm he meant to portray. James grinned at them. This was actually rather cleansing...it allowed him to let go of the brewing resentment of being his father's son.  
  
"James!" Hermione's voice pierced through the crowd. James turned to meet his mother, who was approaching him with the speed of an Auror's spell. She was unmistakably portraying Rowena Ravenclaw. "What in Merlin's name...is this your costume?"  
  
"Quite accurate, isn't it?" he asked, smiling. Hermione's initial reaction of shock mingled with unreasonable insult melted under her son's smile.  
  
"You've always looked just like your father," she said softly, pushing his now jet-black hair from his bangs.  
  
"Speak of the devil," James said as his dad approached. Harry did a double take.  
  
"And what's your costume?" Harry asked pleasantly, "A mirror?"  
  
"Do I look like Dumbledore to you?" James asked, grinning at his father's choice of costume.  
  
"Well, either you're using Polijuice or you're my son," Harry said thoughtfully.  
  
"Polijuice," James replied seriously. Harry laughed.  
  
"It's an ingenious idea, my boy," he said through his chuckles. "You make a better-looking me than I did at your age, if that makes any sense."  
  
"It doesn't," Hermione informed him, rolling her eyes. James and Harry exchanged meaningful looks.  
  
"Hermione!" a familiar voice interrupted them. Turning, James recognized Rayven Weasley despite her white Marie Antoinette wig. Ron, who wasn't the biggest fan of costume parties, had opted for the eternally simple Muggle evening dress. He had, however, added a monocle. The result was quite amusing.  
  
They were soon joined with Ginny and Draco, attending as the czar and czarina of Russia. Ginny and Draco always had the most elaborate costumes. Before James knew what was happening he was lost in the inevitable fray of his family. Angel's brother Phil, an ancient Egyptian, made an appearance with his latest interest, a matching belly dancer. Hermione's look clearly stated her opinion of that costume. Then James's three siblings found their way to the family gathering. Liz was dressed as the queen of England whose name she shared. Luke had gone completely wild, dressing as one of the ancient Celtic gods. Anna, still in her last year at Hogwarts, had gotten special permission to attend the festivities and was dressed in her best dress robes and a tiara.  
  
Tom and Angel joined them as soon as the last of the guests had arrived. Angel was dragging a photographer. "Family portrait!" she cried happily. James sighed. Getting the extended family to stand in a certain order for any period of time was always an adventure.  
  
Eventually, however, they managed it. Angel and Tom stood at the center, clutching their children. Angel was fairly glowing. James smiled distantly. Let them have their moment, he thought tolerantly. He wasn't sure why he felt so out of place with the people he had grown up with. No, that was a lie. He knew perfectly well.  
  
The photographer tried to make a complaint, but Angel cut him off, her smile strained for only an instant. The moment rippled through the family. There was an empty space in front of Rayven and Ron, in the middle of the line of James's generation. The photographer muttered something rude under his breath before snapping the picture, complete with the gap. Family tradition was not something to tamper with.  
  
They always left one place open for Grace.  
  
"Trick or treat!" a vampire, a zombie, and Barbie cried, holding jack-o-lantern bags bulging with goodies. Grace smiled.  
  
"Pick two," she instructed, holding out a bowl of candy. The kids peered greedily inside. Small fingers fought to claim the most popular prizes. Grace had never believed in forcing a certain flavor of candy on the trick-or-treaters. It was their night, let them pick for crying out loud!  
  
They were among the last of the candy-seeking kids. The official trick-or-treat time had ended ten minutes ago. Grace cast a worried glance at the clock. Charlie and Nate still hadn't returned.  
  
Annoyed, she ripped open a miniature Three Musketeers. Chewing thoughtfully, she imagined how much fun she would have handing out magical candy. Muggle sweets were all right, but they had no comparison to sugar quills and Honeydukes fudge. She sighed wistfully. Ah the pleasures of European magical chocolate...  
  
"Mother!" Charlie cried, practically flying through the door. Grace jumped. She had been totally immersed in thoughts of ice mice.  
  
"Hello, Charlie. I take it you had a good time?" she remarked, noticing his flushed face and bright brown eyes.  
  
"I've never seen so much chocolate," her son replied, trying to sound dignified. His secret glee crept into his voice. A pillowcase had served as his bag, and judging by the bulk Grace's neighbors were generous.  
  
"Chocolate is one thing," Nate said in a teasing voice, "When we ran into those two princess you got really excited." Grace's eyebrows rose.  
  
"I don't know what you're implying," Charlie replied indignantly, rising on his tiptoes as he turned to face Nate. "They were silly little girls."  
  
"I don't know, they were pretty flirty..." Nate said, putting his hands in his pockets. Charlie flushed.  
  
"Mother," he whined. Charlie never whined. The change was actually rather welcome.  
  
"Nate, stop teasing him," Grace remonstrated gently. "Charlie, you ought to take your candy into your room."  
  
"I wanted to give you a few, Mother," the boy explained.  
  
"I'll be right back, if you'll excuse me," Nate said as Charlie dug through the pillowcase. He turned and slipped down the hall and into the bathroom.  
  
"Aren't you going to give any to Nate?" Grace asked gently, sitting on the floor next to her son.  
  
"I already did," Charlie replied, somewhat insulted. "We had a fine time, Mother."  
  
"Good," she replied, taking the proffered Twix. Her brow furrowed as her son glanced over his shoulder to make sure Nate was still in the restroom. "What is it?" she asked.  
  
"I just wanted to tell you about a vision I had while we were out," Charlie said. "Angel and Tom's Halloween party is going over well. James isn't enjoying it too much though. They took a family portrait."  
  
"That's...nice, I guess," Grace replied uncomfortably. Charlie's eyes studied his mother intently.  
  
"They left a space for you," he informed her.  
  
"Did they?" she replied. Her surprise was genuine.  
  
"They always do, Mother. Always," Charlie said softly. Grace looked down at her son curiously.  
  
"Charlie, do you want me to return to Britain?" she asked.  
  
"I?" Charlie's eyes opened very wide. "I want you to be happy, Mother. Britain never made you as happy as you are now."  
  
The truth of this simple statement struck Grace like a blow to the stomach. Before she could reply Nate reentered the living room. "You two behaving yourselves?" he asked, his blue eyes glittering with laughter.  
  
"Of course," Charlie replied, "I think I'll take my candy to my room now. Thank you, Nate, for taking me trick-or-treating. It was much more enjoyable than I had been lead to expect."  
  
"Er...you're welcome," Nate replied. Charlie's speech patterns still had a disconcerting effect on Nate. He let out a sigh of relief as Charlie's door was shut with a gentle snap.  
  
"Your son is quite an amazing individual," Nate commented, his arm encircling Grace's waist.  
  
"Yes, he is," she replied. She laid her head on his shoulder. Warm contentment filled her.  
  
Charlie had been unnervingly accurate. Britain did not offer the happiness she found with Nathaniel McCoy. 


End file.
